Roman Holiday
by PaperFrames
Summary: He's the good boy, she's the bad girl. They're headstrong and their hearts are gone, but the timing's never right. AU. Young!Liv & Young!El
1. A Roman Holiday

A/N: So instead of working on the ten other fics I should be working on, I wrote a new. I'm smart. Logic, huh? Blame Halsey, her new CD Badlands took hold and wouldn't let me go until I wrote this.

Anyways, this is AU. Little bad girl Liv & good boy El. This fic differs greatly from Strawberry Wine & it's way shorter. It'll probably be four or five chapters at the most, which I've already written the first two chapters.

There's a good section of Spanish in here & it's translated in parenthesis next to the original text. Mofongo is mashed plantains with pork (or if you're Jewish like me, shredded chicken) in a garlicky tomato sauce.

PS, takes place in 1985.

Hope you enjoy.

* * *

Roman Holiday

He's counting the hours until he can leave these halls behind; the perpetual smell of pencil shavings and the endless stream of homework to fester until the fall. It's the second to last week of school and the day slips by painfully slow. Which is only compounded by a split lunch schedule. B lunch – or what he likes to refer to as the illusion of freedom. Half class, half lunch, all hell.

He's standing at his locker, shuffling through his backpack in search of his bagged lunch when she walks up to him, kicking his locker closed. She's a sight for sore eyes, and he can't help but smile. They've been friends for twelve years – since they were five years old –and, with one hundred percent certainty, Elliot Stabler can't say he's never met anyone quite like Olivia Benson. She's an enigma to him; cynical and rough – hard edges and grit – yet soft curves and wide eyes; a sweet disposition and warm nature masked beneath a tough 'don't fuck with me' exterior.

She smiles wide at him, a mischievous glint twinkles her eyes as they flit about the thinning halls. Elliot's eyes sweep up her form; tracing her silhouette in the few seconds it takes for her to turn her attention back to him. She's wearing a pair of skintight ripped acid wash jeans and an oversized slouchy black t-shirt that slips off her shoulders, exposing her olive skin. Her feet are tucked into a pair of black and white Chuck Taylor all-stars that she's doodled all over, and over her messenger bag is slung over her shoulder. Unlike every other girl in school, she wears bare minimum makeup on her face and her feathered hair isn't ten feet high.

"Hey," she greets him brightly, and immediately his earlier observations are confirmed; she's up to something. It's the nonchalance in her tone along with that glint that gives it away.

"No." Elliot states firmly, standing up. "Whatever it is, Liv, no. I'm going to go to lunch and then somehow make it through the rest of the day." He lies, knowing that whatever she's up to, he's in; he'd never let her go down alone.

"Come on, you haven't even heard me out yet. Look, I've got Serena's keys…" Olivia holds up a set of keys, keys he knows belong to her mother's car. "She's out of commission and told me to find my own way to school – so I did."

Elliot knows that out of commission meant Serena was too hungover to function.

"Olivia," Elliot speaks, eyebrow raised, his blue eyes meeting her brown. "She's gonna kill you."

She rolls her eyes, shrugging. "Well at least I die doing something fun. Come on, El. We've got like thirteen days of school left. What are you really going to miss if you blow off the rest of the day with me?" she pouts.

Elliot feigns contemplation, his jaw hard set. Stealing her mother's car hadn't been on his list of things to do today.

When he doesn't budge, Olivia's pout turns to a haughty smirk. She folds her arms across her chest, and pops a hip out. "Fine. I'm going with or without you. But if you're out, let me know now so I can go catch one of my many male admirers. I'm sure the boys' bathroom stalls are filled with a list of things I'll supposedly do that'll just make me the perfect date."

Rumors, another reason he can't wait to escape high school hell. He's seen the lists she refers to, knows them like the back of his hand. Many a free period he'd spent crossing them out, scratching off the paint and subsequently her phone number from the bathroom stalls. Though they always seemed to come back. No doubt courtesy of teenage dirtbag Brian Cassidy. Just once Elliot wishes she'd let him hit the punk.

"I always scratch them out, Liv…" He tells her, the inflection in his tone voicing his seriousness. He'd even threatened to fight a few guys he'd seen write her number down. "Always."

"I know you do." Olivia assures him, a small smile on her lips and a hint of gratitude in her eyes. She hooks a finger through one of his belt loops, mere inches from him. Personal space always a foreign concept to her. "Now come on."

She tugs on his belt loop and Elliot's feet move without protest. He'll follow her anywhere. They both know it.

/

It's 12:03pm when they finally make it across the Brooklyn bridge, heading for the city. Elliot has no idea where they're going or what she's up to. She's spent the entire drive with the radio turned up on full volume, screeching (or singing - whatever she thought that she was doing). He steals glimpses of her as they go, watching as she mouths the words to whatever's on the radio, her dark locks floating on the wind that whips around the car.

She's mesmerizing.

"Are you going to stare at me the entire drive?"

"Huh?"

"I said: Are you going to stare at me the entire drive?"

Elliot blinks - hard - in an attempt to regain some semblance of cognizance, unaware that his glimpses had turned into full on staring.

A blush creeps up his neck and he turns away, eyes darting out the windshield and to the road in front of them.

"Who says I was staring at you?" He deflects, running his hands down his jean clad thighs. "Maybe I was trying not to look at the road, maybe I didn't want to see my death coming. You know you can't drive worth a shit."

Olivia reaches over and pinches him, one hand still on the steering wheel. "Don't be an asshole!"

"Just drive to wherever."

/

Wherever is exactly where she drives to. He knows the streets by name, but barely recognizes the neighborhoods. Unlike Olivia, he didn't cross the Brooklyn bridge much. Outside of the financial district, the tourist hubs, and a few pockets laden with the wealthy, New York City was notorious for its inherent danger. Having a cop for a father meant Elliot grew up all too familiar with the crime rates and the statistics. Which also meant limited visits across the bridge.

"Liv, where are we?"

"East 116th and Lexington - Spanish Harlem." She answers as she pulls into a parking spot, cuts the ignition and opens her door.

Spanish Harlem? Elliot's eyes go wide. He remembers hearing a story from his father a few months back about a guy who'd bought a bad bag of crack-cocaine nearly overdosing right on the street. The neighborhood had railed against the first response unit and police officers called to the sight to help. Spanish Harlem...his parents are going to kill him.

"Spanish Harlem?"

Olivia rolls her eyes, "Yeah. Scared?"

"No!" He answers quickly, undoing his belt. "It's just, my parents -"

"El, I've known you twelve years. You never listen to your parents. Now, are you taking the train home or are you coming with me? I'll hold your hand so you're not scared." She holds her hand across the council that separates the front seats.

If only she knew how much he did want to take her hand into his. Not out of fear either. He bats her hand away, his fingers brushing against her palm in the process. "I'm not scared. Let's go."

/

"What is it?" Elliot asks as a curvy Puerto Rican woman sets a plate of steam hot food down in between he and Olivia.

His question causes the woman's eyes to narrow. She crosses her arms and turns her attention to Olivia. With a thick Spanish accent, she speaks. "Nena, blanquito es tu novio?" _(Sweetheart, is this little white boy your boyfriend)_

"A veces, cuando no me saca." ( _Sometimes, when he isn't driving me crazy.)_

Confused doesn't even begin to describe Elliot's state of understanding as the two converse. He can count to five in Spanish.

At Olivia's words, the woman turns her attention back to Elliot. She eyes him - scrutinizes him under her harsh gaze and he almost wants to shrink back in his chair. His only saving grace comes in the form of Olivia's playful smile. Whatever they're discussing, clearly she's amused.

"Charro?" _(Clown)_

"No, no. Te prometo que es un buen chico - mi mejor amigo." _(No, I promise he's a good guy, he's my best friend)_

The words flow so effortlessly off of Olivia's tongue that Elliot finds himself watching her mouth, watching as her lips move, no longer concerned with the actual words. They're probably plotting his death, but it doesn't even matter. All that matter is that she - Olivia - is perfect.

CLANG.

A fork and knife land in front him. Elliot jumps. His concentration breaks and he glances up to find the hard-nosed Puerto Rican woman looking at him. "Ju hurt her, I hurt ju." Another clang as a spoon lands in front of him. Another hard stare from the woman.

Elliot nods, wishing that Olivia would offer her hand to him now because quite frankly he is a little scared.

"Te quiero, mijita." _(I love you)_

"Te quiero también, Helena." _(I love you too)_

Helena kisses Olivia's head, evil eye's Elliot once more, and then walks off.

Olivia starts to pull food off of the plate and once again Elliot finds himself staring. A loud clang from the kitchen snaps him out of it.

He looks down at the food in front of him and isn't sure where to start or what he's even eating.

"I promise you, El, you're not gonna die and you will like it." Olivia mumbles through bites of food.

"But that doesn't tell me what it is, who that woman was, and why she'll probably kill me before we leave..."

"I'll tell you everything you need to know. Just take a bite first."

His stomach grumbles. It's past his lunch time and whatever the concoction of shredded meat and smashed something in front of him in a bright red sauce smells good. Very good.

"Come on, El...try it. Live a little..."

Live a little? His left brow quirks at her word choice. He has been living. All day. Ever since he'd skipped out on class and hopped into a technically stolen car.

Any chance he has to protest disappears because before he knows it, Olivia's holding a spoonful of whatever out to him. She's leaning over the table, her feet bump into his and she smiles.

"Taste it." She encourages. "Come on. Please."

Much like the skipping, the car ride, and their entire twelve year friendship in general, be finds himself unable to deny her anything. He reaches for the spoon but she pulls her hand back, swatting at his fingers.

"No, I'll do it. Open."

So he does, a spoonful of flavour hits his tongue, and Olivia grins. She watches him, eagerly awaiting his reaction.

It's not bad, but different. He can taste tomatoes and he thinks the meat is pork. There's olives, garlic, and lots of salt. Originally he'd thought the mashed stuff was potatoes, but the more he chews, the less he's sure about that. All and all, it's not something he'd have ate without being coerced into doing so.

He swallows, reaching for his water glass. "What is it?"

"You like it?"

"If I knew what it was maybe."

"It's mofongo."

"Mo-what?"

"Mofongo, Helena used to make it for me all the time when I was younger. She babysat for my mom up until I was about twelve. You know Christina Ramos - she was in our homeroom freshman year?"

Elliot nods.

"That's her daughter. We used to be closer until she got pregnant and dropped out. Helena would bring her over when she babysat me."

They pick at the plate of food in silence for a bit. The sounds of metal against glass mingle with the noise of the outside; sirens, children laughing, and car horns.

Elliot finds himself glancing up at Olivia. She's picking at the food, nibbling on bites here and there. She seems somewhat distant; lost in thought. He can tell by the way her eyebrows knit together, causing her forehead to wrinkle. Little beads of sweat form around her hairline, and she almost looks as if she's going to cry. Whatever's plaguing her has lead them here.

"So," he starts, setting his fork down, "you ever going to tell me why we cut class and what she said about me?"

Olivia's glance stays pointed towards the table, but he can see her smiling by the way the apples of her cheeks swell.

"You know, you really should pay attention to Señora Rosa in Spanish class." She chortles, her shoulders shaking with soft laughter. "Nothing really, just asked who you were. I told her you are my best friend."

He smiles. Best friend - yeah, he is. And he'd probably never be any more than that. She likes bad boys and older guys, definitely not him.

"And skipping today? Why are we here? Did something happen with your mom?"

His question gets her attention. Olivia's fork still and she looks up at him, their eyes meeting. He can see it, right there in her brown irises. Something happened with her mother. "Liv, she isn't hitting you again, is she?"

"Wanna do something crazy?" Olivia deflects.

Elliot knows her well enough not to push. At least not yet, so he relents.

"You mean something _else_ crazy?"

"Let's go swimming."

"Where?"

"Just get in the car and you'll see."

/

The rest of their day consists of random stops from East Harlem to lower Manhattan's fifth avenue. Above them the smog covered sky turns from light blue to a pinkish hue that's chased by the night sky. They've been to a restaurant, a bodega, have randomly stopped to watch a breakdance battle, and a rap-off. All in all they've had fun. As night falls, Elliot assume Olivia's forgotten about the swim she'd suggested hours ago. A part of him is relieved, while the prospect of seeing Olivia in her swimsuit leaves sends his imagination running wild, another part of him is grateful. She's been a loose cannon today, and the prospect of doing something crazy without much explanation as to what 'crazy' is, leaves him feeling uncomfortable. Sure he'd follow Olivia into hell fire, but he wants to come out of it in one piece too.

Olivia pulls into a line of limos parked outside of the Plaza Hotel. There's that glint of mischief in her eyes again. Elliot can't stop the exasperated sigh from slipping from his lips as she gets out of the car.

"Ready to swim?"

She's going to be the death of him today.

/

They manage to slip into the hotel relatively unnoticed. Adrenaline rushes through Elliot's veins as he follows behind Olivia, his eyes never leaving her moving form. It takes them twenty minutes to find the indoor pool area, and much to Olivia's delight, it's unlocked and they're alone.

The door barely clicks behind them before Olivia's kicking off her shoes and unbuttoning her pants. Elliot swallows hard, his original inquiry about lack of swimming attire answered as she strips down. Her pants slip down her long legs and the heat creeps up Elliot's neck. She's beautiful.

Elliot watches as she tosses her pants onto a nearby beach chair and turns around, dressed only in a pair of dark blue underwear and her T-shirt. Her eyebrow lifts and she has to clear her throat twice before he finally looks up. The heat in his cheeks reaches a fever pitch.

"You gonna stand there and stare, Stabler, or are you gonna join me?" Olivia asks, hands on her hips.

"Stare?" He asks, grinning, as he lifts his shirt over his head.

He can't believe he's doing this. It's 9:38pm on a Wednesday night and he's in a ritzy Manhattan hotel, a hotel they are not guests at, watching as his best friend strips down to her underwear.

Seemingly satisfied with his stripping, Olivia pulls her own shirt over her head to reveal a blush pink bra underneath. She tosses her shirt at him and stands at the edge of the pool, giving him a coy grin.

"Scared?" She asks before turning around and that's when he sees it, a flash of bruised skin just above her right shoulder blade. He thinks back to earlier at the restaurant, how he'd asked and how she'd deflected.

His heart clenches as the sound of splashing ricochets through the air. She'd promised him that the hitting had stopped.

Olivia swims to the top, her black hair slicked back. "Come on, get in!" She beckons, splashing water at him. Elliot's torn, but smiles through it anyways, the day finally making sense to him. The car theft, her eagerness to escape. He just wishes she would have told him the truth - that she would tell him it.

He drops his jeans, clad only in a pair of boxer briefs, and Olivia wolf whistles before disappearing beneath the water's surface. He watches her for a moment. She looks so free beneath the water as she swims, frolics, and plays. He wishes she could be like this all the time, unburdened and able to enjoy their youth.

Without even an increment of grace, he launches himself into the water, landing inches from her. The water's lukewarm and refreshing and he just floats for a few moments, watching as Olivia swims circles around him. Olivia. His Olivia. The girl he'd met at the tender age of five who'd insulted him and pushed him down the slide. The same girl who'd cried when Timmy Haber smashed a caterpillar right in front of her.

She comes to a halt in front of him, cheeks chunky and he figures out what she's going to do two seconds too late. Water hits him in the face and the next thing he knows her arms are wrapped around his neck and she's dunking his head beneath water, laughing. He loves the sound of her laughter and lets her take him under before he wriggles from her grasp and lifts her out of the water and tosses her across the pool.

They continue back and forth until they're both exhausted. They just wade, sharing nonsensical small talk. Olivia wonders aloud what the next single from Prince's new album will be an tries to talk Elliot into going with her to his next concert, Elliot adamantly refuses.

They go on and on for a few moments more before they both fall silent. Olivia's perched on the ledge of the pool, resting her head on her arms while slowly kicking her feet.

Elliot clears his throat, the worry making its way into his tone as he swims towards her. His fingers dance along the bruise and he can feel Olivia shudder.

"Liv, you said she stopped..." He whispers into the air between them.

"Don't, El," Olivia responds, voice soft as she shrugs his hand off of her skin. "She's sick...she's trying. It was an accident. I'm not...I don't, please don't..."

He knows what she's asking. He knows how hard it is for her to even acknowledge what happens when her mother drinks. And Serena drinks all the time.

"Liv, she's gonna hurt you - bad - one of these days. You can't keep trying to protect her from herself when it's doing nothing but hurting you."

"She's my mom, Elliot. She's all I've got. What else can I do?"

He shakes his head, fingers dropping into the water his shoulder brushes up against hers as he leans against the pool wall. "That's not true. You have me and we can get you help - get her-" Elliot's cut off mid sentence, silenced by Olivia's lips on his.

She kisses him, tender yet hard, her body molding into his, causing his arms instinctively wrap around her waist.

They've kissed before, as kids, just to see what it was like. But this kiss, it's different. There's a desire, an urgency, and pull that Elliot's body responds to in kind. He spins them so that her body is trapped between his chest and the pool wall. His mouth moves eagerly against hers, her tongue darting out to part his lips. One of his hands slips under water, falling to her waist as he becomes acutely aware of just what little fabric separates their bodies. Her hands find their way to his shoulders, and then up to his neck, pulling him close until one of his thighs is parting her legs.

Her fingers grasp at the tufts of brown hair that rest on his neck, and she moans into his mouth. The noises she's making send vibrations up Elliot spine, and he grips her left hip harder, his fingers scrunching up the dark fabric of her underwear.

They kiss a few minutes more, their tongues exploring each other's mouths before Elliot breaks away. His heart pounds rapidly in his chest, blood thumping in his ears and goose bumps pimple his flesh. Olivia looks at him, lips parted, eyes glassy with confusion, and her hands still wrapped around his neck, preventing him from pulling away.

"Why – what are you doing?"

"I should be asking you that…" awkwardly he chuckles and then ducks his head low. The redness creeps up his neck. "I mean – we shouldn't. We should stop. I don't know if I'll be able to stop myself if we don't stop…" Though he doesn't want to stop. He wants nothing more in that moment than to kiss her again, hard; to put all of his emotions and everything he's ever left unsaid to her into his kiss. But he can't. They're friends. They don't do this. They don't cross that line; they don't complicate. Even if he desperately wants to – so many nights he's imagined stroking her bare back and whispering sweet nothings into her ear – holding her like he is now. He's been in love with her since he was five years old.

Olivia's chest rises and falls, the save for their breathing, the pool is quiet; the water is still. Her forehead bumps into his and she glances up at Elliot through her wet lashes. A coy smile stretches her lips and her breath is warm against his chin. "Maybe…" she whispers. "I don't want you to stop."

Six simple words send chills down Elliot's spine and he shudders. Clarification. He needs clarification.

"You – you don't?" He asks, opening his eyes he hadn't even realized he'd closed to find Olivia staring back at him, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth. She's the sexiest thing he's ever seen and she also scares the shit out of him. The prospect of taking this thing – whatever they're doing – any farther, scares the shit out of him. Unlike him, she's experienced in the sex department. Her last boyfriend had been older – twenty-one to be exact – and Olivia had confided in Elliot her fear that he'd leave her if she didn't sleep with him. So she had - more than once. Just for him to leave her. Elliot remembers how devastated she'd been.

Almost as devastated as he had been when she'd told him about her boyfriend.

"I don't." Olivia assures him, silencing his doubts with a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth before trailing down his throat and sucking on the skin just above his pulse point. The gesture causes Elliot's hips to involuntarily buck upward, his dick twitching, knocking Olivia into the wall and soliciting a rough hiss of approval from her roaming lips.

He let's his instincts take over, his hormones lead. It's not like he hasn't done things before. Hell, when he'd been with his last (and only) girlfriend, Kathy Malone, they'd been notorious for their PDA (not to mention the endless offers he'd had throughout the years). None of them had been Olivia, though. God he loves her.

Tentatively, Elliot's free hand, the one not gripping her waist, begins to roam. He feels her shiver beneath his touch as his fingers caress her side, sliding around until he's cupping her right breast. She rocks her hips against his thigh in approval and its Elliot's turn to moan.

They're so wrapped up in and around each other, that they don't notice another occupant has joined their illicit pool party.

A loud "ahem" breaks them apart. Their chests heave as air floods their lungs. Elliot looks up to see a hard-nosed man dressed in a security guard uniform staring at them disapprovingly.

Olivia ducks her head against his shoulder, and snickers, her breath tickling his neck. Her thigh rubs against his hard on and he has to bite his lip to stop a hiss from escaping. This would bode well for him with his parents. Any minute now they'd be busted for sneaking into the hotel and he'd be carted home in the back of a police car with his dick waving in the wind like the flag on the Fourth of July.

Elliot's mind races through lies to find the security guard; he can't lie on Q. Luckily, Olivia can. Before Elliot can even form a coherent thought, she's already knee deep into her lie.

"Sorry, sir, my father's in a conference call with the other senior partner of his law firm and he told my boyfriend and I to find a way to busy ourselves. See, we're only in town for the next two days, and I didn't know the hotel had a pool, and well...I just couldn't help myself. I apologize sincerely, sir. Please don't tell my daddy. I mean, you were our age once, didn't you ever just want to be with your girlfriend?" She punctuates her tall tale with a smile that makes her nose scrunch, her eyes glitter, and the tainted halo on her head shine.

Elliot's heart flutters. She's fucking crazy, he thinks, but he loves her.

The stern look that was once on the guard's face slowly dissipates. He seems to contemplate her words, ascertaining their veracity before speaking. "Alright you two. I won't tell your dad, but the pool's closed, so you've got to dry off and head out."

"Thank you so much, sir!" Olivia squeals, her voice a sickly sweet sound as she breaks away from Elliot. An automatic chill sets into his bones as she goes. He watches as she swims towards the stars and slowly gets out. His eyes trace her backside and he thinks of how, just minutes ago, she was wrapped around his waist.

The security guard smiles at them once more before exiting the pool area.

"Come on, El! Let's get the fuck out of here before he figures out i'm lying through my teeth!" She shouts to him, as she picks up her shirt and goes to slip it over her head. He takes in the sight of her puckered nipples visible through the wet pink satin of her bra before they disappear beneath her t-shirt.

It takes him a few, his lower region still heavily uncomfortable, before he gets out of the pool and follows suit with her. He thinks of her lie and how he wishes part of it was the truth. He wishes he were her boyfriend.

/

They drive back to Queens in relative silence, save for a bit of laughter, and music. Neither of them talks about their impromptu pool make out session. Their elbows bump together as they both lean against the center council.

So many questions swirl around inside Elliot's mind; he wants to know why she kissed him. He wants to know how far she would have gone, but more importantly, he wants to know about the bruise on her on shoulder. But he doesn't ask. Physically Olivia might be next to him, but mentally she's off in her own world. She's preparing herself, he knows, for the tepid tide that is her mother.

The car comes to a halt in front of Elliot's house and he unbuckles his belt, but doesn't move to get out. His eyes scan the driveway for her dad's car and when he doesn't spot it, relief floods his bones. Joe Stabler never made his disdain for Olivia a secret.

"Liv," he starts, clearing his throat as he scrubs a hand down his face, "why don't you stay here tonight? Serena's probably still drunk. I'll go with you to drop the car off and we'll walk back. You just live a few streets over. You can sleep with me-"

Olivia laughs then, but not the uninhibited laughter from earlier. This laughter is guarded, somber, and soft as it tears from her throat. She looks up at him, a lopsided, disingenuous grin on her face. "Is that all guys think of? Ugh. Don't worry, Elliot, you'll get to fuck me one day…." she bites bitterly. "According to Cassidy, everyone gets a turn with me so it's only right you stake your claim, huh? Want me on all fours or on my back?"

If she'd smacked him, it would have hurt less than the words she's so carelessly hurled at him. The venom in her tone takes him aback – her vulgarity makes him sick.

He's confused, lost as to why she's placed him in the same category as Brian Cassidy. The name alone causes Elliot's blood pressure to skyrocket. He's heard Cassidy's rumors of a dalliance with Olivia post homecoming game in the back of his truck. But Elliot's never believed a word to come from Cassidy's lips. Olivia had told him the truth about her non-existent night with Cassidy, about how he'd tried to ply her with liquor post her breakup with -One, in hopes of getting into her pants, and had not only failed miserably, but had ended up on the receiving end of the right hook Elliot had taught her. Out of spite, however, he'd told everyone she had been an easy - and eager - lay. And those who didn't listen were gifted with the rumors in writing, on the boys bathroom stalls.

It hits him then, she thinks he wants sex – she thinks he's concerned is tied to what they'd started in the pool – what _she'd_ started in the pool. And she couldn't be more wrong.

Incredulity taking hold of his tone, Elliot speaks, "I didn't mean that!" He can't stop the hurt that filters into his voice. "I meant so I'd know you were safe. So I'd know that your mom wasn't kicking the shit out of you, but if that's all you think I want from you, I guess twelve years of friendship doesn't mean shit. Go to hell, Olivia."

He doesn't give her a chance to respond before he's ripping his backpack out of her backseat and slamming the passenger door behind him.


	2. The Weight of Your Ribs

A/N: Hopefully this was a quick-ish update for everyone. Would've been up sooner but I had two consecutive family emergencies so I can't apologize for that.

Anyways, I hope you enjoy. This one's for Jackie, plus there's a tiny detail in there too for LucySpencer. Whether she picks up on it or not we'll see.

Update: Lucy didn't pick up on it. I'm ashamed.

Enjoy.

* * *

Sleep doesn't come for Elliot.

His anger carries over into the night, causing him to toss and turn. Sleep evading him. He can't believe her. He can't. He hadn't been the one to kiss her. _She'd_ kissed him. And truthfully, he hadn't thought anything of finishing where they'd left off when he'd asked her to stay. He'd only thought of her safety, of the unpredictability of her mother and the war zone she'd walk into. Especially if Serena was sober(ing). Mercurial on a vodka free day, with alcohol in her system, she's the devil incarnate.

He huffs, kicking the blankets off of his feet and turns to sit up. His blue eyes glance out his bedroom window, and he studies the night sky. Unlike Manhattan, where all of the bright lights of Broadway and its surrounding burrows outshine the stars, he can see a few twinkles in the night sky here in Queens. Briefly he wonders if Olivia's staring at the same sky from her bedroom window. His anger from earlier outweighs his curiosity and he shoves all thoughts of her from his mind.

Sleep. He's got to focus on getting some sleep. He's got a math test tomorrow and he hasn't studied for it at all, but that doesn't mean he can fall asleep mid-test, either. His eyes flutter closed, but a tap-tap sound shakes him awake. His eyes pop open just in time to see an object - perhaps a pencil - smack into his closed window. Sleep deprived, he stares at the glass in confusion - convinced he's seeing something things. When another foreign object smacks into his window with a hollow tap sound, he rushes to his feet and towards the window, opening it.

A pen whacks him in his shoulder, causing a welt to rise on his bare shoulder. "Ow, fuck, really?" he seethes, sticking his head out into the night.

He squints to make out the figure in the dark, his garage light too dim to recognise the facial features, but he already knows whom it is. Her silhouette is forever burned into his memory.

Olivia.

"Can I come up?" she half shouts, half whispers, and Elliot's at his wits end with her today.

He'd skipped class with her, aided in the theft of her mother's car, and had even trespassed with her only to have her insult him as a friend in the end. He can't do this. Not tonight. Not after she'd cut him to the bone. No.

"I think you should go home, Liv." He moves to shut his window, his hands on the lock, ready to push it shut when he hears her voice; soft, melodic, and familiar - home.

"El, please." Olivia pleads and something in her voice causes his heart to crack. He doesn't even have to see her to know that, in the hour and a half they've been apart, something's happened with her mother. He knows this because Olivia doesn't plead. She doesn't beg. "Please . . ."

He Scrubs his hands down his face in frustration. The last thing he wants to do right now is talk to her. But he won't let her walk the streets alone at night or call up her sleaze of an ex-boyfriend.

"Fuck, alright, fine. I'm coming."

Careful not to wake his already sleeping mother and younger brother, Elliot trots out of his room, down the back stairs, and to the backdoor.

Quietly Olivia files in. She's wearing his stolen sweatshirt and a pair of black shorts; her hair is damp - he can tell by how it curls. Without saying anything, they make their way back to his room.

/

The door clicks shut behind them and Olivia sits down on the edge of his bed, her body angled away from where he stands. His fist is still clenched around the door handle, and he can feel his temper building. In an attempt to stave off his building emotion, he sighs heavily, breath hot. He shuffles over to the desk jammed into the corner of his room, flips on the lamp, and then shuffles back over to the bed. Gracelessly he plops down onto the twin-sized bed that he's outgrown. Like her, his eyes flit about the room, landing everywhere but on her. They glaze over the dirty laundry pile on his floor, the stack of books on his desk, and the Phoebe Cates poster on the wall right above Olivia's head. He almost smirks as he studies the poster - the poster he'd bought because of the actress's resemblance to the girl right in front of him.

The girl right in front of him.

The one who isn't speaking and whose gaze is now directed at her hands that are folded in her lap. Her dark hair clouds her face; she sits stoically still save for the slight swaying of her legs.

Elliot's jaw tightens; he bites his bottom lip, attempting to draw in the anger. Through clenched teeth, he speaks, "Liv, it's 12:38 in the morning. Either start speaking, or go home because I'm done with you today."

Silence save for her soft breathing is all he's gifted.

His temper flares. In harsh tones, semi whispers he snaps. "Liv, what the hell do you want? To accuse me of being a dick that just wants into your pants again? Huh? To throw your -"

"No…" soft, almost inaudible, Olivia whispers. She shakes her head and brushes her hair out of her face and lifts her chin to look at him. In the light he can see her face clearly. A bruise is forming right above her left cheekbone that runs parallel to a few open scratch marks - it's a handprint. Serena's handprint. He watches as her bottom lip trembles, and a few tears slip silently down her cheek.

His anger dissipates; his chest deflates. "Liv…"

"She's hitting me again…"

 _Again._

In an instant, he wraps her in his arms, her chin hooking over his shoulder. He rubs her back soothingly, rocking her gently as she sobs, her voice muffled as she curls into his chest.

/

Elliot Stabler first realized he was in love with Olivia Benson at the tender age of ten. That when the opposite sex was less of a mystery and more of an endless source of unrelenting annoyance. They'd been lumped together in Mrs. Kennedy's fourth grade class. Olivia mainly stayed to herself, occasionally sitting with the other girls; Elliot stayed with the boys.

One day during a rained out recess, disinterested in anything other than his new X-Men comic book, Elliot kept to himself while the other boys in the class sought fit to tease the girls, Olivia included.

Harmless teasing quickly turned to shoving and hair pulling when Timmy Haber and the rest of the boys realized that it took more than cootie accusations to rile Olivia. They'd pinched and shoved her; yanked her around by the long dark ponytail little Elliot had often found himself watching until she'd wailed aloud.

Her cries caught Elliot's attention and he'd immediately ditched his comic book and blazed into battle. What had been three on one quickly became two against three. He'd kicked and hit, even bit, until

Olivia was safe and sound. His recompense came in the form of a bloody lip and trip down to the principal's office where he, along with the other three boys, were suspended for fighting. He took his suspension with his head held high and returned to class to fetch his things. There he found a red faced Olivia, arms covered in scratches, hair falling out of her ponytail, waiting for him. He'd expected a hug or maybe even a thank you, but instead she'd balled up her fist and socked him right in the stomach. She yelled at him, seething about how she could have handled the situation; about how she could take care of herself.

When he'd gotten home later that day his father, Joe Stabler, rewarded his heroism with a belt to the backside. Elliot had tried to contend that he'd been helping a girl and that Joe had been the one who taught him to do so (ironic considering how Joe treated Elliot's mother), but to no such luck.

He was promptly grounded then and his comic books taken away. The next day, when his father was at work and his mother sleeping, he'd gone outside to check the mail. Shoved into his mailbox was a sloppily written note that read 'Hope it didn't hurt when I hit you - Liv' attached to the new X-Men.

He knew then that that was her way of saying thank you and of saying sorry. That she'd never come right out and say it because to her that was like admitting defeat - admitting that she was weak. Even at ten years old, she didn't want anyone to see her as incapable - something Elliot never saw her as. To him, she wasn't helpless or in need of rescuing. Hell, he hadn't marched to her aid because he'd wanted to be her Knight in shining armor. He'd marched into battle because she was Olivia, because it was his unofficial job to watch her back and to protect her. But most of all, it was because he loved her.

Even if love did hurt (as was evident from the bruise on his ribs).

Six years later the love he has for her only seems to grow stronger, fiercer, and more protective.

He wonders if she knows. If she can sense his feelings. If she's always known how his heart beats faster, harder, stronger whenever she's around. Like now.

His fingers gently pull through her dark tresses as she rests on her side, back to him. He can hear her crying, her soft sobs evident by the way her shoulders shake. She's not going to turn around; she's not going to look at him until she's pulled herself together. They both know this. He can count on one hand how many times she's completely broken; cracked and split apart right in front of him.

Twice. Once when they were thirteen and her mother had finally revealed whom -or rather what - her father was and twice when her grandmother died. Serena's cruelty never seemed to faze Olivia; she always seemed to accept it as commonplace.

"Liv…" he whispers, his fingers pausing. No answer. "Liv…."

He listens as she sighs heavily, watches as she turns over onto her left side - jostling their bodies together on the twin bed. She curls into his side; rests her head against his chest, and hooks her right legs over both his. Elliot's breathe hitches and he feels his body responding to her closeness. The smell of her strawberry and vanilla shampoo floods his nostrils. Her bare legs are soft and silky against his. The leg that's draped across his knees is precariously close to brushing up against dick. A fact he's acutely aware of. A fact that keeps him reciting baseball stats in his head as she unknowingly finds purchase in his form.

"She almost quit drinking. Almost." Olivia sighs, her arm falling against his chest. "She hadn't had a drink in seven months and twenty-three days. Things were going so well. It was like I finally had a mom - _my_ mom. We were doing things together, as a family. Going to the MET; she took me to see West Side Story - which she hates - and we even drove out to Long Beach..."

Elliot's fingers find shelter in her hair once more. He can feel her chest rise and fall against his, the rhythm of her breathing music to his ears.

"But last week was my grandmother's birthday -it's been a year now since she passed- and I guess the sadness got to be too much for my mom. She cracked open the vodka and hasn't stopped since."

She's crying again, he can feel her warm tears seep into the thin cotton of his tank top.

"The bruise on my shoulder... she threw an empty vodka bottle at me and called me stupid - can't even remember why now. She threw her keys at me too." A soft laugh. "Tonight I got home and she was drunk again. She kept calling me a slut, saying I was just like _him."_

They both know the ' _him'_ she's referring to is her father - if that's even what he could be called.

"She told that I was disgusting and she'd been hearing from the other parents about my reputation... She wanted to know which boy I opened my legs for today..."

A twinge of guilt pierces Elliot's gut. He'd have been that boy had that security guard not shown up.

"I told her no one, and she told me to stop lying. I ignored her best I could. I went to take a shower and when I got out she was holding my purse. She'd found my birth control pills, the ones I got from the Queens Women's Center ages ago, but I was too afraid to take after hearing from Joanie Simms that they made her almost bleed to death. She starts screaming at me. Cussing. She grabbed me by my wrist when I tried to walk past her and jerked me against the wall. The only thing I had on was a towel and I was trying to hold it in place when she just started hitting me in the face. Over and over again. Finally I managed to shove her away and ran into my room. She kept banging on the door, kicking it and screaming at me to open it up. I got dressed and climbed out my window. I think I ripped the drainpipe off the wall, but I couldn't stay there. Not tonight."

Untangling his fingers from her hair, he pulls her close against his chest, rubbing circles along her shoulder with his thumb.

"You shouldn't have been there at all, Liv. Not tonight, not ever. I've got you."

And never again if he had anything to say about it.

/

Together they drift in and out of consciousness, Olivia snuggled tightly against Elliot's chest.

He finds himself awake more than not. His mind too concerned with her well-being to sleep.

He's determined to find a way to get Olivia away from her mother before Serena kills her. It's going to be a difficult task, he know, considering how they're both sixteen, but it doesn't matter. He knows she's worth fighting for - worth going to battle over because he's done it in the past. And never once has he regretted it.

"I can hear you _over_ thinking, El." Olivia murmurs into his chest.

"Huh?"

"You're trying to figure out how to fix this for me; stop. I can handle it. I've been handling it. Go to sleep. Don't you have a test in the morning?" She lifts her head, chin resting on his chest.

The bruise beneath her eye is darkening; Serena's handprint reddening; her cheek swelling.

"Liv...you shouldn't-"

She cuts him off, silencing him with a hand over his mouth.

"Look, about what I said earlier-"

 _"Youdonthavetoappologize_ " he mutters unintelligibly, her fingers holding his lips shut.

"Shh, I'm talking and I need to say it," she lets go of his mouth. "I'm sorry. I said those things to you and...and I shouldn't have. I know you, El. I know your heart, and I know you're not interested in the supposed school slut. I threw myself at you and-"

Wrong. Even if she tried, she couldn't be more wrong.

"Do you ever give yourself a fucking break?" he returns her interruption with one of his own. "Do you? You think you deserve Serena's bullshit. You don't think you deserve anyone caring about you. But you do."

Humorless laughter waifs from her lips.

"But I don't. Maybe Serena's right, maybe I am useless."

His anger reaches a fever pitch.

"Fuck Serena!" He shouts louder than intended. Once again Olivia's hand clamps down over his mouth.

"Ssh! El, you know your dad doesn't like me. I'd rather not be left to sleep on my back porch."

He doesn't care about Joe Stabler, though the she was right, the Stabler family patriarch made his disdain for the brunette sleeping in his son's bed no secret.

"He's probably not even home yet, and he could go to hell if he was. I'm sick of you insulting me tonight. You're not useless, you didn't throw yourself at me, and you deserve so fucking much, Liv."

"Insulting you? Earlier yet I did, and I've apologized for that, but what the hell did I just say that -"

"I don't love useless people. And I'm getting really damn sick of being in love with a girl who doesn't think she deserves the world."

"What?" she pauses; her hand ghosts over his lips.

Frustration and anger sends his head spinning, his hands yearning to grab her shoulders and shake her until she listens. His guard's down when it happens.

The words slip out before he can stop them.

They start off in his gut, bubbling and fizzing up his esophagus until they're falling out mouth and pushing past his lips in clumps.

"I said I love you and you're basically throwing it back in my face!"

 _I said I love you_

 _I love you_

 _Love you_

 _You._

Shit.

His twelve-year-old secret is out in seconds. He moves to sit up, his arms passively falling to his side. Silence sits between them, his verbal vomit still hanging mid-air.

Against the dim, yellowish light of his lamp, Olivia's eyes twinkle. He can hear her move, the rustling of his covers and the shifting of his bed springs filling the air, before he sees her. She straddles him, her hands on his chest forcing him back against his pillows.

"Say it again," she demands, eyes fiery. "Please." She adds meekly.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Stuttering, Elliot attempts to speak. His nerves get the best of him and he's on sensory overload.

Olivia's on top of him.

She's on top of him and he could have sworn her shorts were longer than the mid-thigh when she'd first shown up on his doorstep. Yet he knows he can't deny her anything.

"I – I – love you."

"You love me?" she repeats with a coy smile, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth. She presses her palms into his shoulder, pressing down gently.

If she doesn't stop asking that question…

He isn't afford time to do much else but nod meekly because her lips are crashing down on his. There's nothing meek or timid in her kiss and if her goal is to leave Elliot breathless, she's successful. He can't think straight, dizzy from the taste of mouth. Twice today or tomorrow or whenever it is she's caught him off guard like this.

Her hands are warm as she cups his jaw, drawing him forward - her lips, soft.

The taste of the Neosporin he'd used to clean her cut mixes with the taste that is uniquely Olivia, but he doesn't mind. He knows the antibiotic ointment isn't supposed to be orally ingested, but figures that, if he dies by accidentally kissing it off of her lips, death will have been sweet.

Her hands drop from his face and trail down to the hem of his tank top. They dip underneath and brush, feather light, over his stomach. The gesture causes Elliot to laugh, chuckle into her kiss, and that must spurn Olivia on. Before Elliot can gain his bearings, before he can assess the situation, Olivia pushes his top up his torso. Her mouth has broken away from his and she's trailing kisses along his jaw, across his neck.

She sucks on his pulse point, teeth grazing his neck, and he shudders. Somewhere in the back of his mind he briefly remembers a conversation they'd had ages ago about hickeys. He remembers how she'd been adamantly against them; had called them property markers, yet here she is. Those thoughts are fleeting, however, because she's pulled her mouth from him. Behind her she leaves a trail of wet kisses in the shape of her mouth. She sits up, rocking her hips against his, and try as he might, Elliot is unable to stifle the low groan that tears from his lips. His hands fly to her waist, gripping the shiny fabric of his shorts, and his own hips buck upward. It's Olivia's turn to groan and she lets her head fall back against her shoulders. Elliot's eyes are immediately drawn to her neck and he wants to drags his lips across her skin.

Olivia has other plans, though. Her head lolls back into place and she looks at him, eyes full of mischief as she grabs the hem of her (well his) sweatshirt and yanks it over her head.

She wears nothing underneath it.

Something akin to a moan/groan/gurgling sigh of lust slips past Elliot's lips and in seconds his hands are caressing the soft skin just below both her breasts. His touch is timid, hesitant, and uncertain. He draws a thumb across her nipple and it instantly hardens; her stomach quivers and her breath hitches. Elliot's fingers recoil; he moves to drop his hands, but Olivia stops him. She grips his wrists, guiding them to her chest until he's palming her breasts, one in each hand.

"Touch me, El." she encourages, drawing her bottom lip into her mouth. She shifts in his lap and squeezes his wrists. "Go on…"

Slowly he does as he's told; his movements still uncertain as he swipes his rough fingers across her breasts, his inexperience still gnawing at him as he does. Olivia moans, her hips finding a rhythm and she slides against his pelvis.

Elliot let's his eyes slip closed at her movements and his head goes hazy. He's lost in her, in the sensations she's stirring within him, when another one is added to the mix. Suddenly her hand is dipping below his boxers, the cool metal of the gold band she never talks off playing in stark contrast to the warmth of her hand. She dips her hand lower and lower until her hand brush across his erection. His hips jerk forward and instantly Elliot sits up. He grabs her shoulders, putting much needed distance between their bodies, and Olivia's hands fall from his shorts. A look of confusion paints her face. Her lips are slightly parted and her clouded dark eyes search his.

"Did I...did I do something?" she asks, bemusement heavy in her tone.

 _Yes. No. I don't know_.

"Liv…" he doesn't know where to start or what he's trying to fully communicate. He wants this; desperately, but there's a part of him that feels like they shouldn't. Not only because her words from earlier - her accusations - are still gnawing at him albeit now as they had been - but also because he doesn't know how much more change their relationship can take at the moment. The fact that she never responded to his accidental declaration of love; his accidental exposure of feelings verbally, but had instead straddled his lap doesn't go unnoticed either. He lets his hands drop from her shoulders, his gaze falling to the checkered bedspread.

"You don't want me?" he can hear her soft voice question, and he has to fight a groan as she extracts herself from his lap. She swings her legs over the edge of the bed and turns her back to him. "It's my face, isn't it? I probably look like that Chewy thing from Star Wars, don't I?"

He can't stop his gaze from following her; his eyes rake up her bare back and he can't stop his fingers from reaching out and touching the smooth skin of her shoulder. Her olive skin shines in the warm glow of his bedroom lamp and he balks at her deduction of his actions.

"Chewbacca, Liv, and no, you don't. I - it's just...I've never done this. And today's just been the day from hell for you. I don't, I don't want you to feel like you have to do this. You don't. I don't want it from you -"

Olivia rounds on him.

Open mouth, insert foot.

"No - didn't mean that! I do want you. I've always wanted you. I mean I don't want you to feel like it's the only thing I want from you because it's not. I meant what I said earlier. I do - I love...I love you. And I don't want you to regret this because I wouldn't be able -"

She silences him with a kiss, catching him off guard for the third time in the span of twenty-four hours.

"I could never regret you," she whispers when their lips break apart. Elliot's drops his forehead against hers and nods. "Trust me when I say this, El. I want you - I want this."

 _I want you. I want this._

"Me too."

Olivia's hands slide beneath his rumpled tank top. She lifts it over his head and presses a kiss against the base of his throat. Elliot shivers, chills reverberating up his spine.

"Don't worry, I'll go slow." Her breath is hot against his neck and she kisses her way up his jaw. Her lips find his and she slips her tongue into his mouth.

It's a slow whirring of tongues and gentle nips as they lay on their sides, Olivia's chest pressed tight against Elliot's. His hands lazily draw circles along her sides and he comes to the conclusion that he's died and gone to heaven. She is heaven. This is heaven; the way the weight of her leg, the one she has tossed over his right hip, rests atop him; how she rests one palm flatly against his shoulder as if she's going to push him away, but the hand on his neck keeps his mouth firmly pressed to hers, is all heaven.

"Do you have a condom?"

He has to blink twice in order to understand what she's saying.

"Huh?"

"Condom, Elliot. You know to put on your -"

"Oh, yeah, uhm...shit. I've never done this before…"

"I know, you've told me." She laughs, her lips brushing against his. "So?"

The bed dip beneath their weight as he shuffles around her, crawling out of bed. His eyes skate around his room before they land on his bedroom door. He grabs the chair shoved beneath his desk and jams it beneath his doorknob, throwing Olivia a sheepish smile as he does so. He's got a twelve-year-old brother who doesn't knock and there's no way in hell he's letting this moment be ruined.

He crosses the few steps to his closet and begins to sort through it. The sounds of rustling paper, opening drawers, and bare feet fill the air as Elliot searches for the box of condoms he'd pilfered from his uncle's apartment ages ago. Finally he locates them, hidden in an old shoe-box filled with old baseball cards in the top shelf of closet. His nerves get the better of him, fingers shaking as he opens the box, removing one of the silver foil packages. It hits him then as he stares at the package.

They're doing this. They're actually going to do this. Sure it'd been a possibility in the pool earlier that day, but they would have never gone through with it. Or at least he thinks they wouldn't have. But now, now it's going to happen.

This is it.

Quickly he shoves the box back in place and turns around. She steals his breath. In the few minutes it'd taken him to paddle about his room, she's abandoned the rest of her clothes. She now sits on the corner of his bed, palms flat against the duvet, and her legs crossed at the knee. There's a coy smile perched on her lips and even though she has a hand-print-sized bruise spread across her face and her bottom lip is slightly swollen, he's never seen a more divine creature in his entire life. From the bright red of the paint that sits on her toenails, to the way her hair limply frames her face - she's the embodiment of beauty.

"You're beautiful…" He can feel his breath catch in his throat.

Olivia ducks her head and he can tell she's smiling by how the apples of her cheek swell. She lifts her head, rolling her eyes playfully before sliding to the edge of the bed. "Got it?" she asks him and he simply nods. "Then come here…."

And he does. She meets him halfway. Her fingers snatching the wrapper from his hand and she drops to her knees in front of him.

He doesn't know what to do so he stands there, eyes downcast as he watches her in rapt fascination. Olivia seizes the top of his waistband and in one fail swoop sends his boxers cascading to his ankles.

"You're pretty beautiful yourself," she tells him. A redness creeps up his neck and he blushes. His eyes fall closed and then spring open when he feels her hand wrap around him. He looks down just in time to see her tongue run across his length. The sensation along nearly brings him to the brink.

His knees buckle and he loses his balance, stumbling backwards. His arms flail out and he has to fight to stay upright, his boxers almost tripping him. She's going to be the death of him today.

Across the room, Olivia sits on her knees, mouth parted still, but this time in laughter.

"Fuck."

Well, there goes his dignity.

"Are you okay?" she manages to ask through fits of giggles.

 _No_.

"Warn me next time!" He grates, still attempting to gain his bearings. God he's embarrassing himself.

"Warn you? Okay, hey, El - I'm going to suck your-"

" _Don't_ finish that sentence." He straightens up, heart ready to thump out of his chest. "Wow…"

"Wow's right…" the giggles in Olivia's voice disappear. She rises to her feet and closes the gaps between them once more. Her left hand, the one not holding the condom wrapper, grips his right hip and she presses her body against his. "I'm sorry. No more surprises...promise."

He doesn't believe her. Not in the slightest, but it doesn't matter, either.

She lets his hip go and grabs his hand, leading him back over to the bed. She guides him down, onto his back and straddles him once more. With no clothes to serve as a barrier, he revels in the feel of her skin against his. She brushes against him; he shudders, a moan ripping from his throat that she silences with her lips. They kiss a few moments more, her tongue making him dizzy, before she finally slides off of him. She grabs the foil package from its spot on the bed next to them, and rips it open.

They're a blur of limbs, rustling bed covers, and shifting springs as Olivia sinks down on top of him. She barely moves and Elliot finds himself on the brink of coming just from the feel of her alone. He's never felt anything like this - like her. She's warm and tight, a tightness that holds him place, creating tiny fissures of pleasure that crack open from low in his belly. He can't focus. He can barely breathe. His eyes go cross and his hands grip her hips.

Olivia hisses, and his eyes fly open, uncrossing at the sound. He looks up to see that she's closed her eyes too. Her nails are digging into his chest, and she almost looks as if she's in pain. "Liv..." he calls in a straggling sigh, fighting to find his words. "You - you okay?"

She jerks her hips forward and Elliot's head falls back. "Fuuuuuck."

"That's what we're doing."

Those are the last words Elliot's able to compute because before he knows it, his hips are working at a rhythm she creates. The room fills with the sounds of soft sighs, low moans, and wet kisses. Olivia lays almost flat against him, his arms wrapped around her waist to hold her in place. Elliot knows he won't last much longer, he can feel his release building to a fever pitch, and he just hopes that she finds some pleasure in him.

She jerks her hips, their rhythm faltering as he feels her clench around him. The new sensation leaves him groaning into her hair, his grip around her waist almost violent as he lets go. A sense of euphoria fills him and pinpricks of color flash across his eyelids. Somewhere in his haze, he feels Olivia shudder against him. Her teeth graze across his earlobe before her head drops down to the crook of his neck.

"You okay, El?" her voice sends shivers against his skin as she speaks, her voice slightly muffled by his throat.

"I'm good, Liv. I'm more than good."

They drift in and out of consciousness for the second time that night before fully succumbing to sleep.

/

The next morning when Elliot wakes to the sound of his alarm clock blaring, he wakes alone. The chair that had been shoved underneath his bedroom doorknob is pushed into its spot underneath the desk, the spot on the bed next to him is cold.

Olivia's gone.


	3. Sleep Without You

**A/N:** You may kill me. I'm partially sorry. Don't worry, suffering won't be for nothing.

Crica = very vulgar way to refer to a woman's genitals.

For Lindsey because she may murder me so I need the world to know this in case I die.

PS: Y'all are driving me bananas with faving and following but not reviewing. Help me keep my sanity.

Enjoy - kinda.

* * *

He thinks little of her disappearance as stretches and yawns, but can't tame the disappointment as his fingers stretch out along the space she'd occupied. Part of him knows that she'd be gone when he woke, part of him had hoped he'd wake to her still in his arms. Little of that remains relevant, however, when his eyes catch the clock on the desk across the room.

It's 8:23am.

A harsh shit falls from his lips. Class started at 7:45am. He's late.

Sluggishly he dresses, mind a blur of memories from the night prior; their vividness enhanced by the smell of Olivia that lingers on his skin.

Olivia.

He can't stop the smile that splinters across his face, almost stretching from ear to ear as he thinks about her; about how she'd overwhelmed him in the sweetest of ways possible; about how she hadn't awakened him before she left, no doubt to gather herself together for class, and about how he'd pay her back for letting him over sleep.

Payback, he decides, would come in the form of kissing her until she's dizzy, much like she had done to him the night before.

The night before.

He grins whenever he thinks of it. It's all still fresh in his mind. The feel of her bare skin beneath his hands, the weight of her body on top of his, and the sounds she'd made. God those sounds; his dick twitches at the mere thought. But his insecurities come tumbling in.

He hopes that he was good enough for her - that his inexperience didn't ruin the night. He shudders in embarrassment just thinking about how he'd almost fell on his ass, boxers around his ankles.

Quickly he dresses, his eyes catching sight of a small gold band that sits on his desk next to the still burning lamp. It's Olivia's ring, the one she never takes off, that one that'd been a gift from her mother during a rare period of sobriety. He stares at it for a moment; the band staring back at him before he slips it into his back pocket. He'll give it to her when he sees her in class later.

He heads down the stairs and into the kitchen where he comes face to face with his father. Joe sits at the kitchen table sipping on a mug of coffee, smoking a cigarette.

Shit.

"Over slept, I see." Joe mumbles as he takes a drag of his cigarette. "Long night?"

Well, that's one way to phrase it. Long indeed. A smile tugs at the corners of Elliot's mouth as he thinks about it.

"Uh, no. I - uh - I forgot to set my alarm clock. How long...when'd you get in?" _Did you see Olivia?_

Joe butts his cigarette. "About fifteen minutes ago. Ended up pulling a double; caught a body up in the Bronx."

He's lying. Elliot can tell by the bright pink lipstick smudge tucked underneath his folded-down collar. The stain probably belongs to a hospital nurse or some file clerk; perhaps at the front desk secretary, in the department.

"A body huh?"

"Yeah, but enough of that. Sit down and eat a bowl of cereal or some toast. You're already late. Why go to school starving?"

Huh? The young teen's brows furrow at his father's concern - uncharacteristic concern. Joe Stabler was known for being an uncaring hardass. It was no secret around the neighborhood that he'd more than once taken his belt to both of his sons.

"Sit…" Joe directs, pointing to the chair adjacent to where he's seated. Elliot takes the chair opposite, across the table and grabs an orange from the bowl that rests in the middle of the table. He's not hungry but knows better than to argue with his father.

The smell of citrus permeates the air as the sticky sweet liquid of the orange runs down Elliot's palm, seeping into his skin as he peels the orange. Neither Stabler speaks; the clock above the refrigerator ticks.

8:53am.

Joe stands and his chair screeches across the floor, no doubt leaving behind black skid marks Bernie had spent hours scrubbing from the tile a few days prior. "Grab your backpack, I'll drive you to school."

Elliot nods and does as he told.

/

It's a twenty-minute drive to Abraham Lincoln High School. The sound of horns and the slow thrum of tires against pavement provide the soundtrack for the father son pair. Joe's fingers drum along the steering wheel, Elliot stares out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of Olivia walking.

He spots a brunette standing at a crossword, but she's too short to be his girl. His girl. God he knows he's a sap, but he can't stop thinking about her, her touch, and her kiss; how silky her hair was, as he'd run his fingers through it. Hearts dance in his eyes and he smiles, though the feeling of dread isn't far behind. Something's wrong.

An 'ahem' comes from his father's direction. Elliot looks over.

"Whatever happened to that little blonde you was seeing a few months back? What was her name; Katherine?"

Elliot's brows furrow. His head tilts and his belt tightens as the car turns right.

"Kathy, dad. Why?"

The car comes to a slow halt in front of school. "You should invite her over for dinner this Sunday. She's a good girl - good for you."

He has to suppress a laugh at his father's words and raise an eyebrow at Joe's timing. Joe had paid no attention to Kathy when she and Elliot had dated, yet now… something's amiss. But Elliot doesn't do well to let his mind dwell on his father's ulterior motives long; he simply shrugs in response; his mind is on Olivia.

"Maybe." Elliot placates. "I've gotta go before I'm any later." He moves to exit the vehicle, but is stopped by Joe's voice.

"I wasn't asking, Elliot."

He never does. Elliot nods and sighs, wondering how he'll explain Kathy having dinner at him home to Olivia.

/

But he never gets a chance to explain.

Olivia isn't in school when he gets there and according to her other friends, hasn't been all morning. He searches high and low for her, waiting next to her locker at lunch and outside of the classes he doesn't share with her. She never shows. He fails his math test, unable to focus.

The day passes by Elliot in a depressing blur of sameness and anxiety. He worries that the night hadn't been as perfect between them as he'd originally believed - that somehow, he'd hurt her and to spare his feelings, she'd kept quiet. He worries that the feelings he'd shared with her hadn't been mutual and now she's avoiding him.

He replays the night's events as he walks home, examining it from all angles. There'd been that minute when she'd first sank down on him; her face had contorted into an indecipherable expression. Had he hurt her at that moment? He had, hadn't he? And now she's avoiding him.

The dread that holds him only deepens as he nears his home. His eyes immediately settle on the familiar burgundy Toyota that's parked in front of his house along with a cop cruiser that isn't his father's. He breaks into a jog then, hundreds of scenarios running through his head.

"Ma?" Elliot calls out, tossing his backpack on the floor and making his way into the dining room where the adults are. "Liv?"

Neither his mother nor Olivia, instead his greeted by an irate Serena Benson who immediately jumps to her feet. She closes the distance between them and seizes Elliot's arms, screaming and shaking him. "Where is she you little punk? Where is my daughter; tell me right now!"

Her nails dig into his shoulders and he has to fight the urge to shove her back, smack her down like he can picture her doing to the girl he loves with every fiber of his being.

"Take your hands off of my son!" Joe yells from somewhere in the dining room.

"Ma'am, this isn't helping." A foreign male voice yells.

Serena lets go, her chest falling and rising with her rapid breaths. The cop comes to stand in between the pair.

Joe clears his throat, and Elliot straightens up his shirt, his temper building. "Elliot, tell Ms. Benson that you don't know where Olivia is."

Elliot's brows furrow, the confusion setting in. _Where Olivia is?_ "What?"

Bernie clears her throat, and he can see the worry knitted into her features; the older woman has always had a soft spot for the Olivia. "It's okay, Elliot. We know you two are close. Just please tell Serena where Olivia's gone so that she can go get her…"

 _Go get her? Go get her from where? What?_ Nonplussed, Elliot staggers back, away from the portly cop that smells as if he's ingested too many donuts; the remnants of his crime still hanging from his beard in the form of powdered sugar and jelly.

"Go get her?" Elliot repeats, perplexed. In order to go and get her he has to know where she is. Hell, he has to know she'd even run off in the first place. "What do you mean go get her? What's going on?"

Serena sidesteps the officer, yanking away from the cop as he tries to stop her. A piece of paper is shoved into his chest - hard - and Serena glares at him. The cop just sighs, an arm jutting out to serve as a makeshift barrier between the mother of the lost girl and the young boy who loves her.

Elliot glances down at the crumpled lined paper and Olivia's voice preserved in her somewhat girly handwriting screams back at him.

 _Mom,_

 _I'm not coming back._

 _Elliot doesn't know where I'm at or where I'm going either; leave him alone._

 _And El, if you get a chance to read this - I love you, too._

 _-Olivia_

' _I love you too_ ' the words echo loud and clear in his ears, ringing like the liberty bell. She loves him.

She loves him like he loves her - like he'd whispered to her countless times that night as their mouths explored each other's and she'd fallen asleep tucked into his arms. She loves him. And no one can take that away. That knowledge alone feels him with delight. But all delight dissipates. The rest of her words on the paper, four in particular quickly capsizes it. _I'm not coming back._

His mouth goes dry and he falters as if he's been punched in the gut. Suddenly his chest feels tight.

She's gone.

"She ran away?" Elliot questions, brows knitted together. His words send Serena into a tailspin.

"Yes she's gone you little bastard! She stole five hundred dollars from me, grabbed some of her things, and left. You know where she's going," Serena screams, her eyes are bloodshot and Elliot can't tell if it's because she's been drinking (he can smell the vodka on her) or if she's been crying (the tear tracks are evident against her pale skin). "Not tell me where she's going." She breaks through the pathetic arm barricade and manages to tangle a hand into the material of his thin t-shirt. She jerks him roughly to her. "Tell me!"

"Ma'am! Let him go!"

"Serena! Let Elliot go!"

Both the officer and Bernie chide.

Elliot jerks away, his hand enclosing around her wrist. "She said it herself, I don't know." His voice cracks on the last word. "And I'm not Olivia, you can't beat me and expect me not to do anything about it. You don't deserve her - you abuse her! She -"

A sharp splintering crack of skin against skin lights the air.

Elliot rubs his jaw, fingertips ghosting over his stinging cheek, and a bit of a rustic taste floods his mouth.

"That the best you got? Why don't you hit me a few more times or throw a vodka bottle at me - there's gotta be one around somewhere."

A flicker of horror flashes across Serena's slate eyes, but doesn't say anything; doesn't apologize.

From the corner of the room Joe speaks. "It's time for you to go. If Elliot knows something, I'll take him down to the 6-1 myself. Now get out of my house."

Elliot's eyes never leave Serena's. The cop reaches out and takes the note that hangs limply from Elliot's opposite hand, the one that isn't rubbing his jaw.

The two - Serena and Elliot - stare each other down for a moment before the older woman turns around, she rips her bag off of the dining room table and walks towards the front door.

"If I knew where she was at," Elliot hisses as she goes. "You can be damn sure I'd never tell you!"

/

He refuses to cry on a train full of people during rush hour, but he can't stop his bottom lip from quivering. Olivia's disappeared and he's torn between fear so tangible one could almost touch it, and anger. She'd left him. After everything that'd happened last night, she'd left. She's gone.

And she'd had the nerve to declare her love for him via letter. A letter that was being held by Brooklyn PD and he'd probably never see it again.

The tracks screech to a halt and the subway door open. A group of people gets off and another group piles on. He's been on this train for an hour and he's not even sure he's going in the right direction. He'd torn out of his house Bernie hot on his heels only minutes after Serena and the officer left, on a mission. He's determined to find Olivia and he's checking everywhere he thinks she may be.

First stop, Spanish Harlem.

/

The term 'sticking out like a sore thumb' comes to mind as Elliot pounds the pavement in search of the restaurant he and Olivia had been at the day prior. He's quite possibly the only white boy around within miles, but he doesn't care - it doesn't matter. All that matters is finding Olivia.

He pushes on, sojourning the foreigner soil of a world within his own although miles apart. The restaurant comes into view when he's stopped by a group of guys. They're all dressed in the same color pattern: black and gold. Gaudy rope changes hang around their necks, knuckle rings adorn their hands, and they wear shell-toed Adidas. One even carries an oversized boom box.

"Yo, charo, you looking for something?" One of the guys asks. He's about 5'8 with dark black hair and light brown skin. He's got one hand in his pocket and the other holds what Elliot thinks is a cigarette. "I got everything you need…"

"Oh, uh -" everything you need? Elliot's almost 100% certain he means drugs. "No thanks man, I've gotta go see a lady." He tries to walk around, but is stopped by the wall of guys in front of him.

"A lady, huh? Was it that fine piece of crica I saw you drive in with yesterday?" The guy asks as he grabs his crotch with the hand that holds his cigarette. "Man, the things I'd do to her. Lemme tell you. She be screamin' my name all night long. I'd have the blanquita calling me papi by the end of the night, begging for more."

Elliot sees red, his someone maintained often explosive temper getting the better of him. He shoves the guy - hard - and the wise cracker goes down as Elliot jumps on him. Before Elliot even knows what's happening, he's on the ground, curled into a ball as at least more than three guys kick and hit him. He's spitting up blood by the time he hears a woman's voice scream something in Spanish.

"Basta ya! Basta ya!" (Stop it now)

Whatever she says, the guys halt their assault.

"Déjalo ya antes le digo a tu madre!" (Leave him alone before I tell your mother)

There are more words he doesn't understand, but whatever she says cause the guys to walk away.

Elliot sits up, bits of cement and glass embedded into his hand and he holds his ribs. They're not broken, though definitely bruised.

"Ven blanquito. Now." The feminine voice orders and he looks up to see Helena in front of him. She looks pissed; her curly black hair disheveled. "What're ju doing here?" she asks.

When it takes Elliot a moment to get to his feet, she leans over and helps him. "I'm - ow, shit ow - looking for Olivia."

"She hasn't been here since yesterday, when she came witchju'"

Elliot's heart sinks even further to his knees. "I've got some bruised ribs and a busted rib, please don't lie to me…"

Helena's eyes narrow and the arm she'd extended to help him get to his feet, she quickly withdrawals. Elliot hits the pavement again. "Ow."

"Ju wanna think about askin' me that again? I said she isn't here. Those boys, they woulda killed ju and they not care. So, I ask ju…"

"You don't know where she's at." He states flatly, the look in her eyes telling him that she's being one hundred percent truthful.

Helena shakes her head. "I don't. Now ven, I'll drive you home."

"How about down to Manhattan and I'll get home on my home?"

/

Like the night prior, Elliot doesn't get home until almost eleven p.m. He's been all around New York City, has used every subway token in his possession, and still hasn't found Olivia.

An inkling feeling in his gut tells him he isn't going to find her either.

When he walks into his house, Bernie gasps; he guesses that he probably looks like he's been in WWIII, but doesn't care. The numbness in his heart - the acute pain in his chest - is too powerful for the ache of a few bruises to compete against. Joe yells something at him and his little brother, Ben, says something he can't hear.

Elliot shuffles up to his bedroom and slams the door shut behind him and pulls the gold band out of his back pocket. He turns it over in his palm; a few ugly bruises glaring back as he changes hands. He sets the band down on his desk and kicks off his shoes, shuffling over to his bed.

He lays down on his side, the pillow Olivia had used the night prior still next to him; he can smell her strawberry and vanilla hair.

Although he knows he should shift onto his back, the pain in his ribs can't outmatch the pain in his heart. After a few moments he does the one thing he doesn't allow himself to do often, if ever; he cries.

From fear, from pain, and from worry. He cries.

Olivia's gone.


	4. My Ghost, Where'd You Go?

A/N: I'm updating twice in one week. This will probably never happen again so don't get used to it. I had this chapter pretty much ready to go when I published the last so here you go.

It's painful and I'm sorry. Kinda. Also, someone mentioned seeing the last chapter from Olivia's POV. Well, I do have it written so if more people express interest, I will post it. But not yet. Some important things need to happen first.

No translations.

For Carina and Brittany with a thank you to Lindsey (who is still probably going to kill me) and Lucy.

Enjoy and if you're gonna hate me, do it in the reviews (aka help me keep my sanity by not faving and following without commenting). I promise this is all worth it.

* * *

1\. Denial

The first year Olivia is gone Elliot spends every waking moment pounding the pavement in search of her. He cuts class and sneaks up to Spanish Harlem, hoping for news from Helena at least once a week. Ever since his first run-in with the neighborhood gangbangers, they don't bother him much anymore. They come to an undeclared detent. Elliot doesn't know why nor does he have the ability to spare much concern or care to investigate. He assumes it has to do with Helena who always says the same thing when he shows up at her restaurant doorstop.

 _Lo siento, blanquito. I haven't seen my mijita._

Each empty apology chinks away a tad bit more at Elliot's shattered, though somewhat still pieced together, heart.

He almost fails his junior year, unable force himself go focus on anything other than Olivia. His guidance counselor, an overly smiley woman, expresses her concern with a call to his parents. Joe threatens to switch Elliot's school, to sign him up for boot camp, and wash his hands of the depressed teen unless Elliot snaps out of it. Elliot doesn't.

If anything, the sadness only grows worse; the fear and worry stronger. On Thanksgiving the 2-7 fish a body out of the Hudson. A Jane Doe. A girl around seventeen with dark hair and dark eyes; she'd been sexually assaulted and strangled. An officer from the 6-1 picks up Serena to identify the body. Thankfully, the body isn't Olivia's. Of course Serena, who rarely leaves her house now, hadn't told Elliot. He'd heard it through the rumor mill at school.

School. Where everyone has their own theories about Olivia and about why she'd ran away. None of them knows the truth. Elliot isn't even sure he does.

But the lies mount; the greater and blister within the halls of Abraham Lincoln High School that one April day he explodes on a gossiping Brian Cassidy. They're in gym and the latest rumor on the mill is that Olivia is somewhere out there aborting or having, Cassidy's baby. Cassidy shakes it off and calls Olivia a whore. Without Olivia there to stop him, Elliot snaps.

It takes the gym teacher and two other students to finally pull Elliot away. Cassidy can barely stand and Elliot's hands are already swelling.

A two-week suspension follows for Elliot and he's banned from attending junior prom.

Like he cares.

2\. Anger

Year two into Olivia's disappearance and the weight of it all is slowly killing him.

He's taken to wearing the gold band she'd left behind on a piece of leather cord around his neck. The ring's dainty and fragile, clearly too small for his fingers. Inside it reads: For my olive branch. People ask him about it, but he shrugs his shoulders and tells them that it belongs to somebody that he used to know.

Anger is now the only emotion he seems able to hang onto - it deflects the pain and it propels him forward. It makes his feet move when all he wants to do is sleep until this nightmare is over. The tiniest of things make him snap. He's short and crass; spends more time in detention his senior year than he has his entire school career. Polite is no longer a word in his vocabulary and the amount of fights he finds himself in runs tantamount to the number of times he's cursed God.

One day he almost throws his now thirteen-year-old-brother through a plate glass window. It's Christmas vacation, and like the year before, Elliot's buys Olivia a gift, a package of turtle dove ornaments. They'd been on sale at the local dollar store. He keeps them on his desk, next to the necklace he rarely (if at all) ever takes off. When he comes home after a long day of wandering around NYC in the hopes of spotting Olivia, he finds Ben in his room, playing with the ornaments. The brothers argue and fight. Their spar on ends when Elliot shoves Ben into his desk so hard that everything on top of the cheap Oak tumbles to the ground, including the necklace and ring, which subsequently seeps into the open heating vent.

Ben runs for the hills as the tip tap of metal against metal is heard as the ring ricochets off the vent. He seeks to find solace in the kitchen, behind his mother, but Elliot's bigger and faster. Elliot doesn't even hear his brother cry out when he seizes him by the shirt collar; he doesn't pay attention to the whimper in his brother's tone, or the pleadings of Bernie to stop. Only the sound of Olivia's voice begging him to 'Stop being an ass' halts his assault. He snaps back into reality to find Ben, sandwiched between his chest and the glass sliding back door, crying. Bernie yanks on the sleeve of his sweatshirt and the kitchen chairs are strewn about the room.

Elliot lets go of Ben and mindlessly stalks back to his bedroom where he spends the rest of the night digging around his heating vent, in search of Olivia's ring.

An hour and a half into searching, he gives up and unleashes his rage on his bedroom. He tears the covers off of his bed; he rips the poster of Phoebe Cates to shred; he curses Olivia. Violently and with malice he curses her. She's a bitch, a slut, a whore, and he could never love someone so disgusting. He hates her more than he's ever hated anyone before and doesn't care if he never sees her again. He bids her good riddance and hopes that wherever she is, she's miserable.

Like he is.

When his anger finally subsides, his lays in the middle of his bedroom floor, surrounded on all sides by collateral damage. The guilt sets in and he's sorry. Sorry for his vitriol, his anger, and his rage.

The next morning he sits silently in confessional. Father Camren waits for him to speak.

" _Forgive me father, for I have sinned…"_

3\. Bargaining

Three years into Olivia's disappearance her faded picture glances back at Elliot from a light pole on the corner of Ocean Parkway and Neptune Avenue. The official search has been called off, but neither he nor Serena stop searching. Surprisingly enough, Serena's stopped drinking. Well day drinking at least; she and Elliot come to a fragile truce.

He still travels up to Spanish Harlem at least once a month for any news, but he's always met with the same answer; Helena hasn't heard from Olivia. Elliot figures as much. Wherever Olivia's gone, she doesn't want to be found.

If she's still alive, that is, if. He's been through too many worst-case scenarios to not accept her death as a very real, very tangible fact. Ever since she'd disappeared just four days shy of three years ago, he's looked at the statistics on runaways. Most fall into prostitution or drug use, and eventually end up dead. He knows Olivia would never become an addict based on her fear of addiction because of her mother's problems. He fears the prostitution because he knows five-hundred-dollars is little to no money to live on for a month, let alone three years. The thought of some pimp taking advantage of her makes his blood boil. But death, although he knows it's a possibility, wounds him the worst. He cries at the thought of her in some unmarked grave - alone and cold. He curses God at the thought that he'd never get to see her or hear her voice again.

He begins to bargain with God and with the heavens. He promises to be a good Catholic and never have sex outside of marriage again. He promises to volunteer at the local homeless shelters and help little old ladies cross the street. He swears that he'll never yell at his mother again for the eccentricity she can't control. He vows to be a better brother to Ben who is now fifteen and shaving. He sits in church and sings his Hail Mary's. He goes to confession and puts his fifty percent of his paycheck in the collection plate.

On her 19th birthday he finds himself wandering the streets of Manhattan, near Times' Square when his heart damn near falls out of his chest. He sees her; recognises her from the dark mane of hair. She's scantily clad and for a December day, minus the cheap fur coat wrapped around her. He bumps into a few people as he crosses the street to get to her, the entire way screaming her name, but she doesn't turn around. When he finally reaches her, he's crying. Bargaining with God works.

Or not.

The girl turns around as he grabs her arm and it's not Olivia. Her eyes are too big, her nose too small, and her smile too thin. She snatches her arm out of Elliot's grasp and tells him that he has to pay if he wants to push her around. She promises him the time of his life and tells him that he can call her Olivia, as long as the price is right.

He sticks his hand in his pocket and pulls out a few crumpled bills, wondering if he can play pretend for a night. If he can close his eyes and picture Olivia.

The pro just laughs in his face, calls him kid, and tells him to have a nice night.

4\. Depression

Three years turns into four and both Bernie and Joe are sick of him. His friends, well what few friends he has left, don't bother to call. He stops going to Spanish Harlem.

Elliot is the walking dead. He goes to work and watches the news for any word on found Jane Doe's. Aside from that, he does nothing else. He runs on autopilot. The days and nights blur together. Ben's sixteen now and he plays baseball, but Elliot rarely goes to his games. The rest of his former classmates are off at college or at real jobs doing things He's even heard it from his father that Brian Cassidy is at the police academy. Joe wants Elliot to join too, but Elliot doesn't. Instead he enjoys his mindless job at the local sanitation plant. It keeps him busy, that's all he can ask for.

Serena has quit drinking all together now, too. She lets Elliot know this one day when he's sitting on his porch, watching as his brother packs up his date for the Sadie Hawkins dance. She tells him that she's sorry for how she'd treated Olivia and that she's yet to give up on her daughter. Elliot doesn't know if he gives up or not. He's just tired of searching for ghost.

On a hot June day, he promises Joe he'll pick up a case of donuts for his dad's squad room. He's almost out of the shop when he runs smack dab into a young girl - woman. She's tall with a model-esque figure and bright blue eyes. Her blonde hair hangs down to her waist and she's dressed in bicycle shorts and a tank top. The donut box flies out of Elliot's grasp and twenty-four jelly filled, powdered sugar topped donuts hit the floor. She immediately apologises while Elliot fusses up a storm. He'd just spent fifteen dollars on this shit.

Reserved to fate kicking his ass once more, Elliot piles the wounded donuts back into the box; the blonde insists on helping him. He thanks her and insists that accidents happen and she laughs. She makes a bad knock-knock joke about 'doughnut open the door' and it's so bad, Elliot actually laughs. They exchange some small talk and then it dawns on Elliot who he's talking too.

Kathy Malone.

She's prettier than she had been when they were fifteen, taller, and her hair blonder. With the recognition comes familiarity and he asks her how she's been. She's been well, and she's getting ready to start nursing school at Hunter College. He's truly happy for her.

She offers to pay for another box of donuts, but Elliot insists it isn't necessary. He asks her if she's ever seen a police station before and when she says no, he asks her if she'd like to.

Together they drop off the donuts and afterwards they go and see _Coming to America._

5\. Acceptance

He's happy with Kathy. They've been dating now for almost a year, and she's surprisingly low maintenance. She's easy to talk to and fun to be around. They spend hours running around the newly renovated Central Park, chasing each other like kids. Kathy makes the confession that she'd wanted to ask him to the senior prom he didn't go to and Elliot tells her that he wishes she would have. There's familiarity between them, though enough foreignness that Elliot doesn't find himself sucked into the past or contemplating what-if's.

Every now and then he still checks the news for any Jane Doe's, but he's accepted what is. Olivia's gone and his life is going on. With or without him.

Serena's finally stopped looking too. She lets Elliot know one April day when there's an ominous chill in the air. Elliot stands outside of his parents' home, in front of a moving truck. He's moving into his own apartment. Serena tells him that it's useless and that she no longer believes her baby girl's alive. She laments a ghost and goes on about her way, apologizing to Elliot once more.

He finishes loading up his stuff and throws it into his apartment. He unpacks with a pace slower than a snail's because he'd rather be doing _anything_ else. In a box marked 'Shit' he finds his high school graduation announcement, a few community college pamphlets Kathy had given him, and Olivia's ring. It's still rests on the leather rope he'd place it on so many years ago. Ben had been able to pull it out of the heating duct shortly after their fight. The ring's slightly tarnished and kind of dusty. He stares at it for a few moments more, his mind wandering to the girl that it belongs to. Briefly he wonders what she's doing at that moment. Is she okay? Is she happy? But he stops himself before too long, unwilling and unable to go down that road again. He'd spent three years of his life searching for her.

The ring hits the bottom of the box with a dull thud and a loud pound reverberates against his front door. He opens it to find Kathy, out of breath and red faced staring back at him.

She tells him that his mother had called her since he doesn't have a home phone yet. His father is in critical condition at King's County hospital. Apparently Joe had tried to intervene in a bodega hold up and his recompense was a bullet to the right lung and a nick to the femoral artery.

Joe succumbs to his injuries and dies April 11th, 1989 at 1:23am.

Elliot doesn't know how to feel as the news rings around the hospital waiting room. He catches Bernie right before she hits the ground.

/

Joe's vigil is on a rainy Saturday, four days later. The entire police department stands to salute their fallen comrade. Family from every corner of the country shows up. A redheaded woman Elliot strongly suspects is his father's mistress sits near the back of the funeral home during the services, crying. There's an endless cycle of prayers, sacraments, and songs. Elliot just sits numb, his mother next to him in tears. On the other side of him Kathy holds his hand. Ben just stares straight ahead.

The service draws to a conclusion and Elliot stands to address the crowd, to thank them for coming. He clutches the pulpit tightly as he struggles to speak. His eyes glance the crowd, passing over both the familiar and unfamiliar faces.

He's almost through the mechanical thank-yous when he spots her.

Olivia.

She's at the back of the funeral home, dressed in all black, her once waist length black hair now resting at her collarbone. Her dark eyes meet his and he stumbles through the rest of his speech at lightening speed.

He jumps down from the stage and is engulfed by his mother's waiting arms, though his eyes stay trained on Olivia.

Olivia.

It's her.

She's alive.

And she's leaving - bolting through the exit as if she's on fire.

He has to get to her before she disappears again.

But he can't.

Bernie pulls on him, sobbing. His uncle Frank pats him on the back, and Kathy asks him if he's okay. No, he's not. And he won't be until he can get to her - to Olivia to make certain she's not just some fucked up figment of his imagination.

He does his best to extract himself from his mother's grasp, claiming he's in need of fresh air. Finally a somewhat stunned Ben trades him places, and Elliot tears away from the crowd.

He's not letting her get away. Not this time.


	5. Pulled Apart At the Seams

A/N: Oh oh oh, this is only the beginning.

Hope you enjoy.

* * *

He isn't quick enough.

By the time he wades through the straggling guests, floating clergymen, and funeral parlor employees, Olivia's out of sight. He searches high and low for her familiar now collarbone length dark mane.

Each opened door and pulled back curtain renders him empty handed. He starts to doubt his eyes, himself as he makes it to the entrance/exit of the parlor. It's been a long week got him; a world wind of chaos and confusion. On Monday he'd waved goodbye to his Joe Stabler and by Saturday he was burying him. There'd also been the stress of funeral planning, which had exacerbated Bernie to the point that she hadn't been able to get out of bed the last two days, thus leaving Elliot as the sole decision maker. He hadn't _slept_ , truly slept, in about four days; he couldn't trust eyes. Like a little more than a year prior, on a freezing December day, they'd played a cruel joke on him.

But like that December day, Olivia's not there. His mind had conjured up her up. It'd called her into existence as a means of comfort. Ironic, he thinks, how the person who'd hurt him the most is the one who could take away all of his pain.

Defeated, Elliot returns to his family to finish his goodbyes.

/

(A few hours later)

They stand outside his apartment still dressed in their funeral attire.

For the fifth time that, he promises Kathy he will be okay alone tonight. He knows she doesn't believe him. He can tell by the way her baby blues search his. Regardless though, he doesn't want her company tonight; he wants – needs – to be left alone. Her concern is endearing, and it only makes his heart grow fonder for the blonde, but he can't do this tonight. His mother is with her sister, his younger brother is at their uncle's and Elliot just wants some uninterrupted sleep. Especially after that mirage his brain had conjured up earlier.

"Are you sure, El?" Kathy asks sweetly. She leans up; her fingers graze the scruff on his jaw.

Elliot smiles, nodding. "I'm sure Kath. I'm just gonna get some sleep. I'll call – I'll come by tomorrow. Around about 2pm; sound good?"

"I wish you'd let me stay, you shouldn't be alone."

"I've been alone for longer, I'm fine," _I'm fine_ he cringes at his phrase choice, Olivia still finding her way into his thoughts thanks to earlier. He shakes her from his head and puts a palm over Kathy's hand. He brings her fingers to his mouth and gives them a soft kiss. "Night. Kath."

She gives a half smile, a somber smile and blinks in cognition. "Night, El."

"Need me to walk you down?"

"Nah, I'm right in front of the building. Go to sleep."

They part with a soft kiss to the lips before Elliot retires to his half unpacked, scarcely furnished apartment. Save for a stack of never ending boxes in the middle of his half living room/half kitchen and his twin bed that sits on the floor because he'd forgotten his box spring, Elliot's apartment is barren.

He digs through some boxes for a sheet, blanket, and pillow and tosses them onto the bed. He's slipping on a pair of sweatpants over his hips when there's a knock on his door. Elliot rolls his eyes so hard his eyeballs hurt. Kathy just won't quit tonight.

"Kathy, I promise, I'm – "

His mouth drops open. The grip he has on the door handle goes slack and his arm falls limp, to his side.

It's not Kathy.

Live and in the flesh Olivia stands in front of him. Her hair is shorter, a little past her collarbone; she's curvier than he remembers – her thighs a little thicker, her chest bigger, and her face a little fuller. She's gone from a sixteen year-old girl to a woman.

"Olivia?" Elliot stammers and then rubs his eyes – hard.

He's dreaming all of this up. Again. He's certain of it. Well, almost certain of it because this Olivia is looking at him. She's staring straight at him with those coffee-flecked almond shaped eyes that set his soul on fire.

She's quiet as she looks up at him, the bag in her hands bangs against her knees as she nods.

Her nod means nothing. He needs to hear her voice. There are so many emotions swirling around inside him.

"Olivia, you've gotta say something to me. You've gotta let me know you're really here because I've been chasing your ghost for four years now and I just buried my dad. I can't take any more bull shit tonight, especially if it's some fucked up figment of my imagination." He rambles, hating the way his voice cracks on the last syllable and the tears that gather in his throat. He doesn't want to cry.

But he doesn't have to because Olivia jumps into his arms, her own wrapping around his neck. Elliot doesn't hesitate as he pulls her close; his left cheek pressed tightly against her right. She's warm and he can feel her heart beat against his bare chest through the thin material of her shirt.

"I'm real, El. I'm real and I'm so sorry." Olivia whispers, voice thick – heavy. Probably from unshed tears. "So sorry."

Her lips are warm as they brush against his skin; her breath is hot.

"You're real. You're real. You're here. You're here." He repeats; one of his arms snakes around the top of her shoulders while the other cradles her head, his fingers tangling in her hair.

She still smells like vanilla and strawberries Elliot notes as he breathes her in.

This is real.

 _She's real. She's real. She's real._

"I am."

Silent tears roll down his cheeks and he's so thankful, thankful that she's in his arms; thankful that she's alive. For 1430 days, he's both dreaded and wished for this day, praying that he'd find her instead of her corpse.

The dim light bulb in the hallway outside his apartment buzzes, rapidly blinking before burning out all together. In the dark Elliot can hear her breath, he can feel the rise and fall of her chest against his and revels in the feeling.

"How'd you know where I was? Were you at the funeral home?"

"Not so little Ben told me when I stopped at your house. He was packing up to go stay with your uncle. And yeah, I was there, but I knew you had things to sort through, I didn't mean to interfere. Can I come in so we can talk?" Olivia asks and even her voice is different.

It's deeper, a bit harsher, and she moves to pull away.

It hits Elliot then that he's half-dressed and they're standing in his hallway outside of his apartment; the now dark hallway.

He doesn't want to let her go.

Olivia squeezes him tight and then starts to wiggle loose. Reluctantly, he lets her go. She almost trips on her bag as both of her feet hit the ground. He catches her wrist, a small giggle leaving her lips as she finds her footing again.

Each movement she makes he watches like a hawk – too afraid to even blink; she might disappear if he does.

"Can I?" She asks again.

"Oh, yeah." He answers, ushering her into his apartment. Her last words dawn on him then as she walks past him, her shoulder grazing his chest.

They need to talk. Direly. He needs answers, explanations, and reasoning. He needs to know why she left; why she ended what hadn't even began.

He shuts his door as she enters the apartment and clicks the lock behind her.

His eyes never leaving her form, they stretch from the top of her head to the tip of her toes. Her hair is side-swept and a mixture between curly and wavy. She's wearing a long sleeve, tight black t-shirt, and a black skirt. Around her neck hangs a silver chain. At the end of the chain rests a silver nameplate that reads 'Ella.'

Ella. Elliot's brows furrow together as he reads the name.

"So, I brought you this." Olivia's the first one to speak. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a Christmas mug that's filled with hot cocoa mix and a candy cane dangles from the handle. "And also this…" she walks a few feet across the room to the kitchen counter and sets the mug down. She pulls an X-Men comic book from her bag. "I remember how, when we were in the 3rd grade, and your grandpa died this was the only thing that could cheer you up…I know we're not in 3rd grade any more…" She rattles on, but Elliot's focus on her words weans.

He can't stop staring at her. He can't believe this is real. She's here.

"I'm sorry about Joe, El. He was a … he didn't … I'm sorry, I know he was your dad." Olivia finishes and she stares at him, her ankles snap together – her black flats clicking against the linoleum. "I can make you a cup?"

She doesn't wait for his answer, she starts to flit around the pocket-sized kitchen, opening and closing cupboards and drawers.

Elliot just stares, unsure of where to start – what to process. She's here. She's standing in his kitchen; she's giving him gifts – pieces of childhood comfort; she's talking about his father. The father he's not sure if he misses or not. The father who'd told him for the last four years to forget the girl in front of him because she'd forgotten him. It's all too much and he can feel the annoyance start to peak – the perturbation at her nonchalance. She'd been gone for four years and now she's standing here, offering to make him hot chocolate - searching for utensils to make hot chocolate - while she wears another woman's name around her neck and gives him no explanation.

"Where the hell were you?" He snaps, harsher than intended. "I looked for you for almost every goddamn day and you were just gone. You didn't even have the decency to wake me up before you walked out of my life!"

Olivia stops rifling through a mostly barren cupboard and visibly flinches. She turns back around; leaning against the countertop and Elliot can see the tears slipping down her cheeks. They glisten against the bright white light of the room. The urge to pull her into his arms and wipe away her tears is overwhelming, but he fights it. His anger seems to be winning over.

"You said you wanted to talk; talk, Olivia! Or should I call you, Ella? Is that who you've been pretending to be all these years? What the hell happened?"

Her hand flies to the nameplate around her neck, she grips it in her fist and shakes her head, "No, god no. I don't even know where to start. You have every right to be mad at me. If you need to yell at me, please do, just –" she wipes at her eyes.

"Where did you go?" He cuts her off and his voice cracks. The tears cloud his eyes before they slip down his cheeks.

Olivia wipes at her own eyes and takes a deep breath in, " let me make you some hot chocolate, and I'll answer all of your questions. Please?"

At this point, he figures what could it hurt. Maybe a cup of hot chocolate on a cool and dreary April night will settle his nerves.

/

The first thing he's going to buy with his next paycheck is a couch; hardwood floors are not comfortable.

He's sitting on a spread out blanket, back against the wall opposite where most of boxes are stacked. Olivia sits on his right side, her long legs stretched out in front of her, crossed at the ankle. Elliot thanks god for small favors in the form of her black stockings. Her legs had always been his kryptonite.

In hand he holds the snowman mug filled to the brim with hot chocolate. A couple of marshmallows bob along the liquid's surface.

They've both been silent for a few moments now. Just the sounds of their soft breathing and slurping drinks fill the air.

Elliot can't think of the last time he's had hot chocolate or the last time he's read a comic book. They'd both been his vices as a small child, his comfort, along with the girl sitting next to him.

Fondly he remembers how an eight-year-old Olivia, with her unruly hair and mismatched socks brought him a cold mug of hot chocolate and an issue of X-Men he'd already read. She'd sat with him, telling him stupid stories, dulling the pain of losing his grandfather, until her mom came to pick her up.

It'd been all he'd needed in times like these.

Times such as these.

The dead father, the reappearance of the once not quite girlfriend always best friend... Elliot shakes his head and wonders when his life became something out of a soap opera.

"You ever gonna ask me any questions?" Olivia whispers, Elliot's eyes cast sideways and he watches her.

She doesn't look up when she says the words; she keeps her head down, balancing the Styrofoam cup of steaming liquid on her clothed thigh.

There's something unmistakably different about her. Something besides age. Something he can't quite put his finger on. She's still beautiful, even more so now that his eyes have been robbed of her for four years.

"Why'd you leave?" Elliot asks. His eyes flit back to his mug. Briefly he wonders where, in the middle of April, she found a Christmas themed mug.

Next to him, Olivia shuffles. She pulls her legs close to her and ducks her head.

If she only answers one of his questions, he needs it to be this one. Why?

Her silence leaves his mind to wonder.

"Did I do something that night? Did I hurt you? Liv, did I - did I force you?" He asks. He needs to know - he has to know. They'd never sorted out what had happened before she'd run.

Olivia laughs softly, shaking her head. "God no, El! I remember that night well, and if anything, I was the one forcing you -"

"Did you regret it, is that why-"

"No, I told you that night I'd never regret it - or you - and I didn't. I don't. It wasn't anything you did or didn't do. It wasn't you at all..."

"Then why did you leave? I told you that night that I loved -"

"Because, El, because I had to. Look, when I woke up that morning you were drooling and you had this stupid blissful look on your face. You looked so happy..."

"I was because I had you. I wanted to take care of you. I thought we were gonna _be_ together..." Elliot finds himself confessing. He sets his mug down and turns towards Olivia.

"We were _sixteen,_ El. You couldn't take care of yourself. You didn't need to take care of me. I took care of me. Staying would've ruined you. I wasn't good enough for you. God, there's so much you don't know. So much I'm not sure how to tell you or if I should."

She's speaking in half sentences and riddles and Elliot finds his patience thinning. He's trying to do this on her time, trying not to scare her off, but there's very real, very tangible anger inside of him and he isn't sure how long he can keep it under lock and key.

"Then tell me, Olivia! Tell me! Tell me where you went and why you came back now and for god sakes please stop speaking in riddles!"

"He made me leave-"

"He who-"

"Joe. Look, the morning after we slept together, I got up to go home to shower. I didn't get up thinking it'd be the last time I ever saw you. I even left my ring so you'd know I planned on coming back." She switches her cup to her left hand and holds up her right. The finger where she'd always worn the gold band that now sits in the bottom of a cardboard box is barren.

"When I got downstairs, he was sitting at the kitchen table - you know he doesn't - didn't like me, but that morning he was being even nastier to me, if possible. He started saying all of these things about me. About my mother and how I was just like her. He called me a whore and he threatened to have me sent to foster care and Serena put in prison if I didn't leave you alone. Told me I wasn't good enough for you and I'd ruin you.

I didn't disagree. I couldn't because he was right. But I didn't want to end up in foster care being passed between houses or group homes for two years until I aged out and I didn't want my mom to end up in prison. She didn't deserve that. I'd ruined so much of her life already. I figured it'd be easier for everyone if I left. So I did. I went home and got the emergency money out of the safe and disappeared."

Elliot shook his head slowly. A mixture of disbelief and confusion swirls around inside of him. Would Joe really be _that_ vindictive, _that_ heartless? He couldn't have been. Could he? Joe had always been a hard man; controlling and unforgiving; he hadn't liked Olivia, either. Are her words truly that far-fetched?

Joe Stabler had always been a bastard. An adulterer. And had even toed the line of child abuse when his temper imploded.

"Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you say something?"

"Because he was your dad; because he was right. You deserved so much more than me. I knew you would have given up everything to help me sort through the crap with my mother and I couldn't let you."

Elliot bristles angrily, his shoulders stiffening and his face hardening. Pre-Olivia's return, post-Joe's death he hadn't been able to sort out his feelings in regards to his father and his death, but now things were even more jumbled. Confusing.

Forcing himself to relax, he rubs a hand down his face in frustration. "That wasn't your decision to make, Liv. I wanted to be there for you. I was going to be. I would've fought Joe for you - with you. But you didn't let me..."

After a moment, Olivia slowly lifts her eyes to meet his, her expression tentative. "I'm sorry...I couldn't."

Elliot nods, he desperately wants to reach out and grab her hand, to touch her. Comfort her. But he also wants to yell, to scream at her for being so brash, for making his decisions, for letting Joe scare her.

"El, there's something else I need to tell you. It's why, why I came back, aside from checking on you. Look, El-" she reaches out, her free hand clamping down on his.

Elliot jerks back, just needing a moment to breathe. His movements cause the Styrofoam cup to jostle in her hand and the cup tips forward, spilling down her shirt.

Shit.

She hisses, grabbing at the material, jumping to her feet.

"Ow, shit."

"Fuck, Liv, I'm sorry." He scrambles to his feet, too. "I didn't mean - let me -" he breaks off and rushes over to the boxes across the room in search of a towel. He rifles through a stack of cardboard and finally finds a scraggly looking towel.

When he turns back around to hand it to her, his breath hitches. Her back is to him, her shirt in her hands. A scar runs along her right shoulder blade, one he's never seen before.

"Liv, your shoulder . . .."

She turns around, quickly. Her eyes wide. "Oh, uhm...when the working girls think you're stepping in on their territory, they get a little..."

Horrified, Elliot takes a few steps to close the distance between them. "You were stabbed?"

"Five hundred dollars goes fast, and I had to stretch it as far as I could. So I stayed with Michael up at Hudson for a bit. When he realized I wasn't gonna sleep with him, he kicked me out. I didn't know where to go or what I was gonna do, so I rented a motel room near Times Square for a week. There was a pimp up there that kept following me around. He offered to get me out of the motel; put me up somewhere really nice. I kept declining and he told me where I could find him when my money ran out."

He's afraid of where her story's going, of what her words imply. The prospect of her under a pimp's control - of her having to -

The night in Times Square a little less than a year ago floods his memory. He can feel the crumpled bills in his hands; see the woman he'd chased across the street. A sick feeling of guilt swarms him. The way he'd thought of using that girl is quite possibly how someone had -

"Liv, you didn't take him up on his offer. He didn't do that to you?"

Olivia shakes her head. "No. I was desperate, but never that desperate. Apparently one of his girls got word of his offer and she showed up at my room...let's just say she didn't show up alone."

Elliot's stomach lurches at the thought of Olivia, wounded and hurt. His eyes soften and he slowly starts to realize just how hard things had been on her end.

"After that I patched myself up and bought a bus ticket bound to California. I figured I'd get there and just do _something_. Stupid I know, but I didn't get any further than New Jersey. My bag was stolen at Union station and it had my tickets and the little bit of money I had left in it."

Stalked, stabbed, and robbed. Elliot isn't sure he wants to hear any more. He's almost crowding her now, holding the towel out for her to take.

"The bus driver pointed me to a youth homeless shelter in Cranford after that. I stayed there for a while..." She tosses her shirt onto the floor and grabs the towel.

Elliot's shoulders sag as Olivia pauses. A homeless shelter? God he can't take hearing any more. "Why didn't you come home?"

Olivia looks up at him, her brown eyes brimming with tears. She swallows hard, her bottom lip trembling before she drops her gaze back to the ground.

Smoothly, Elliot reaches out; he uses a finger to draw her chin up and pull her eyes back to his.

"Liv."

"I didn't have a home to come home to."

Her confession causes his heart to crack and within seconds he pulls her into his arms. The towel's smashed between their bodies and Elliot drops a kiss onto her head. He holds her tight with her head tucked into his bare chest. Warm droplets - Olivia's tears - slip down his chest.

 _I didn't have a home to come home to._

"You always had me..."


	6. Is There Somewhere

A/N: Still don't know if I'm happy with this chapter. Don't be surprised if it vanishes. Either way, I hope you enjoy.

cmeo: oh that's coming.

* * *

If this is a dream, he never wants to wake up.

Olivia's here. In his arms. Four years of wondering, of searching, and of fearing the worst dissipate, washed away by the feeling of her silky skin warm against his.

Gently, he rubs circles along her back in an attempt to soothe her cries. Slowly her sobs soften, her own arms stretching around his torso. Deep in the recesses of his conscious, he knows he should be angry with her - furious. He has every right to be; four years and not even a letter in the mail, but relief outweighs his anger. Even more so after the tale she'd just told - the tale he knows is only partially completed; chapter one of four.

Joe had always accused him of being too magnanimous.

Against him, Olivia shifts. Her chin hooks over his right shoulder as she draws herself up to her full height, making her only a couple of inches shorter than him. Absent-mindedly his fingers find purchase in her hair, lightly toying with the dark tresses.

He can stay like this forever.

Eventually the strands slip through his fingers and his hands drop down to her shoulders. Olivia's heart thrums against Elliot's just. The rhythmic beating lulls him into an almost euphoric sense of contentment. Each breath she expels, each rise and fall of her chest, anchors him to her.

After a few moments, Olivia's the first to pull back, though still tucked into his embrace.

She glances up at him with those hooded brown eyes, her chin tilted towards his mouth, and her lips parted suggestively.

God help him, she's dragged him to hell and back, yet he still finds himself getting lost in her, and there's no place else he'd rather go adrift.

Leaning in closer, Elliot kisses her softly.

Unlike the that night four years ago when he'd just been a somewhat experienced kid fumbling in the dark, these kisses are different. They're soft, sweet, and tender, but still evoke the unrelenting hunger he has for her. His mouth moves on her, ache and passion blurring together as she responds enthusiastically to his touch. Her arms trail up his sides and wrap around his neck, drawing him closer. His hands skim along her bare sides before settling at her waist. He brushes his thumbs across her hipbones, the fact that they're both shirtless (though Olivia's still in her bra) dawning on him then.

The ache he has for her is overwhelming.

Tentative at first, Elliot's hands begin to explore her body. The pad of his thumb brushes along her rib cage, skimming over her clothed breast while his other hand heads south. It slides over her ass and he's rewarded with a soft moan that only spurns him on.

He's not a kid anymore, and while he's more than confident she can still make him trip over his own two feet, he's certain he can do the same. The four years he'd spent without her hadn't exactly rendered him celibate. Briefly he wonders if the same applies to her, but shoves those thoughts from mind. It doesn't matter; she's with him now.

Somehow, they fumble their way into his bedroom, nearly tripping over the thin mattress as they go, their mouths never parting.

Impatient and eager, Elliot's hands wrap around the back of Olivia's thighs, and he lifts her off the ground long enough to lower her onto the bed. He uses one of his thighs to nudge her legs apart and settles himself between her; sweatpants suddenly too heavy.

Olivia hitches a stocking clad thigh over one of Elliot's hips, and pulls him closer to her. The movement solicits a rough hiss from Elliot. He breaks their kiss, trailing his mouth down her neck, to her clavicle before settling on the supple skin that is the tops of her breasts.

He sucks and nips at the soft skin, and it's Olivia's turn to hiss. Her hands find the back of his head, cradling him to her bosom as his hands begin to roam.

He tries to touch every inch of her, every bit of exposed skin all at once. His mouth, his hands, and his fingers explore the vaguely familiar, but also brand new terrain that is her body.

Beneath him Olivia moans, both of her legs now wrapped around his hips, her back arching off the bed. She draws him closer and Elliot has to pause for a second to gain his bearings.

Sex with Kathy and with the others girls he'd slept with since Olivia had never been this intense. He'd mainly just gone through the motions, mindlessly letting his urges spur him forward.

With Olivia, it's different. He's in sensory overload.

The way she tastes, how she feels, the sound of her breathing... He just needs more.

His mouth drifts between the valley of her breasts before trailing down her stomach. He glances up, his mouth pressed to where the waistband of her skirt rests. His lips catch a bit of the exposed skin and he notes the jagged, raised texture and kisses it softly, chalking it up another scar accumulated in the years they've been apart. He isn't sure he wants to know how; especially not when his mouth lightly drifts along another. Shaking the thoughts from his head, Elliot glances up at the angel that rests beneath his mouth.

Olivia's head is tilted back, her bra straps slip down her shoulders, and her chest is rising and falling rapidly.

Smoothly, Elliot reaches beneath her skirt, hiking it up ever so slightly in the process. His fingers hook around the band of her stockings, and in one swift movement, he's bringing them down her long legs.

All he can do is gulp, the sound of the blood beating in his ears deafening as he stares at the sight before him. Her hair is haloed on his pillow, her mouth parted, and her legs bare.

He settles between her legs once more, a hand on the outside of each thigh climbing higher and higher until her skirt is bunched up around her waist. His fingers skitter across her stomach, and gooseflesh rises beneath his fingertips. Beneath him, she shudders and he smiles, leaning in to kiss her.

But just as quickly as everything starts, it stops.

Olivia shoves at his shoulders and her mouth breaks from his mid kiss. His lips land haphazardly against her neck.

He's confused, dazed, and floating in a sea of lust and nostalgia. Another gentle shove from Olivia, brings him back to the moment. Through the fog, he hears her voice.

"El, we shouldn't."

As much as it pains Elliot to admit it, she's right; they shouldn't. No matter how physically difficult, if not downright impossible, it is for him to pull away.

He groans as he drops down on the bed next to her. Out of breath and out of mind; blue eyes trained on the void that is his bedroom ceiling.

"We have so much to talk about, I have so much to tell you. This wouldn't...this wouldn't do anything, but make things more complicated."

Elliot adjusts his sweatpants, shifting in place. His mind drifts to that night in the pool, four years ago and of how he'd thought the same thing. Anything happening between them would complicate everything, oh how right he'd been.

"I'm sorry, Liv. I didn't mean to - to paw all over you. Please-"

Olivia sits up, tugging her skirt does as she goes, and shaking her head. The bob of brown, wavy hair brushes against her collarbone and Elliot has to readjust his sweats again.

"Don't apologize to me. I'm the last person you should ever apologize to."

Torn between agreement and denial of the veracity of her words, Elliot stays silent. He's split between wanting to comfort her and wanting to lash out.

Comfort wins out.

The living room light that seeps into his bedroom basks the walls of the room in an orange-ish glow, a glow that illuminates Olivia's bronze skin. Elliot finds his eyes roaming up the expanse of her smooth back, marred only by the band that holds her bra in place.

His fingers move of their own volition, up Olivia's spine and then down it until she shivers.

"El…"

His blue eyes spot the jagged, raised, scar and his fingers follow. He traces it with his rough fingertips, his heart breaking as he goes. It hits him then that she could have died from blood loss. Or she could have been murdered and no one would have been any the wiser. They probably would have chalked her up to being a teenage prostitute runaway.

Tenderly, his intentions the furthest from salacious, he runs his weathered fingertips over the scar. She shudders against his touch this time.

"What else happened out there, Liv?"

"So much." she whispers. "So much that'll change the way you look at me…" suddenly she breaks away. Olivia scampers to her feet and scoops up her stockings. "It's late...I really should get going."

So much that'll change the way you look at me.

Her words strike fear into his heart, though his expression remains neutral. Whatever she's afraid to say to him is big. Perhaps life altering even. But he doubts that it will change the way he sees her. At least he hopes it won't. Whatever she's been through, it can't compare to the way he feels for her.

It can't.

Can it?

"Whatever it is - whatever happened, it's not going to change how I see you; how I've always seen you…"

"God, you're still a choirboy." she jabs at him playfully although her tone is solemn. She ambles over to the wall opposite his bed and slips a shapely leg into the black hosiery.

Elliot drops his eyes to the checkered bedspread, internally groaning. Those legs.

He's got to focus. She's leaving.

 _She's leaving_.

"Liv, please don't go -" Elliot pleads, scrambling to his feet

"It's late..." is all she offers as an explanation as she finishes pulling her stockings on.

"Just stay a little but longer. Just stay. Please. Don't leave. Not yet. Not when I don't know if I'll see you again. Stay with me."

"I'm coming back, Elliot. I have to. I need to, not just for me. I just - I think we need-"

"You said it yourself, it's late. It's dark. And home -" he pauses, chuckling somberly. "I don't even know where your home is. . ."

"Home is in Cranford, New Jersey. 16 Rose. Last house on a dead end."

Jersey? She's been an hour away from him this entire time. An hour in the opposite direction from where he'd searched high and low. A swirling mix of sadness and indignation flashes across his baby blues. "You've been in Jersey this entire time?"

Olivia doesn't lift her eyes from the ground. "Yeah, pretty much. Look, El… I know I said I had something to tell you before we got carried away - and I'm going to tell you – I just need – I need a night to pretend that you're not going to hate me once this has all been said and done."

Hate? If she's scared him earlier, she's downright terrifying him now. The feelings only amplified when he realizes she won't look at him. Her dark eyes are directed at the ground and even with her mussed hair, flushed face, and wrinkled skirt she's beautiful. But there's something so innately different about her.

Nonetheless, he doubts anything could ever make him hate her. "I couldn't-"

For the first time since she'd pushed him away on the bed, she glances up at him. He can see the fear flit across her brown eyes. She's hiding something. "But you will..."

The solemnness in her tone tells him she's not joking; she irrevocably believes that whatever she has to say will alter the foundation of whatever exists between them.

So he proposes a compromise. "If you're so sure I'm going to hate you after you tell whatever it is you need to tell me, then stay with me tonight. Please. Just for a minute. We'll watch the ceiling like it's a sky full of clouds and it's 1985 again…"

He watches as she contemplates his words; her fists clench and unclench against her sides, and her eyebrows knit together.

"I have somewhere I need to be, so I can't stay any longer than a minute." Olivia informs him and he almost asks where she needs to go so late into the night, but refrains; he's not certain if he'll like the answer.

"And-" she continues, "you need to put on a shirt – so do I. I'm going to have to borrow one of yours though, since you dumped hot chocolate on me." For the first time all night, she gives him a genuine smile, one that stretches from ear to ear.

Elliot returns her smile with one of his own, though a feeling of foreboding hangs heavy in his heart. He's torn between relief, terror, and happiness all at once.

But he shoves that all aside to focus on the here and now.

And the now consists of finding two shirts.

"Yeah, sorry about that…"

"No you're not - it got me out of my top." She counters, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Neither confirming nor denying the veracity of her words, Elliot simply shrugs.

Somehow, though the ominous feeling still lingers, the mood's shifted. They've managed to fall into a familiar rhythm, harmlessly flirting as if they weren't shadows of their former teen selves. As if they weren't four years apart. As if she wasn't going to disappear from his life again.

/

Their minute turns to hours as night gives way to dawn and dawn fades into day.

Hours of reminiscing and nostalgia are the culprit to blame for their current predicament.

They'd talked about everything and anything. The only topic off the table in their discussion had been the present. Apparently they'd talk themselves - and each other - to sleep.

It's roughly 2:30 in the afternoon when Elliot starts to stir. The bright spring sun dancing along his eyelids serves as a reminder for Elliot to buy some curtains. Pressed against him is Olivia; her chin tucked into his chest and her arm slung around his waist. She's dressed in only his T-shirt, her stockings, and her undergarments. Some time in the night she'd abandoned her skirt.

Relief floods his system as he eyes her, curled against his side. She's here.

It'd taken him forever to close his eyes last night, even after she'd fallen asleep mid conversation. The fear had been too strong; the nagging thought that this is all a dream too persistent. He doesn't think he'd have survived had it all been just a dream.

Absentmindedly, his fingers fiddle with hair, combing through the silken dark tresses. His eyes study her face, lingering on the pout of her mouth; his own lips ache to kiss the slope of her nose - the nose she hated. The same nose he'd reassured her a thousand times over was perfect after she'd ran into a model mall scout who'd promised she'd be the next Gia Carangi. The catch? She had to get a nose job first.

Of course Olivia had taken the comment to heart and had walked around for a week contemplating the procedure. He'd caught her several times over yanking on the tip of her nose and lamenting its shape.

Sheepishly, he'd told her that he liked her nose, especially the way it scrunched up when she laughed.

He contested that she had no imperfections.

Almost six years later, and he still maintains the same. Even as his eyes wander and he notes the small changes in her features - a few creases around her eyes; small laugh lines edging her lips; a bit more weight to her face - he finds her to be perfect.

His fingers still when he notices her begin to stir. The mattress shifts beneath them as she turns onto her back, her hands roaming the spot next to her. Elliot thinks little of her movements until he notices the pained look on her face. Her brows are knitted together and her mouth is drawn into a tight line. She jerks violently to the left and he can see the panic morph her sleep from peaceful into frightening. Elliot reaches out to wake her, recognizing that she's having a nightmare, but is left grasping at air. Olivia's already jolted upwards.

"Ella, Ella!" She shouts frantically. "Ella!"

Ella. There's that name again. The same name she wears around her neck. Ella.

Tentatively, Elliot reaches a hand out and places it on Olivia's shoulder. He shakes her just a bit to get her attention. "Liv, Liv…"

Olivia rounds on him. From the expression on her face, Elliot can tell she's still caught in that liminal state between awake and asleep. Her eyes are unfocused and her chest is rising and falling rapidly.

"Hey...calm down now. You were having a nightmare. But it's okay. You're here with me...with Elliot. Do you remember?" He consoles her, his gruff voice soft and gentle.

"I - I had a dream that they took her - they took Ella..."

"No one took anyone, Liv. Just breath…" he reaches out to tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear, but is stopped by her thin fingers enclosing around his wrist. She jerks him towards her, her brown eyes squinting as she stares at the watch that he'd forgotten to take off before falling asleep.

"Oh my god!" Olivia shouts and then bolts out of bed, nearly tripping over the thin duvet wrapped around her legs as she goes. She rushes for the bedroom door.

Elliot clamors to his feet in a rush, confused. He finds Olivia in his half kitchen, half living room partially dressed. Frantically she searches for her purse, her shoes falling off of her feet as she goes.

"You shouldn't have let me fall asleep." she bites, though her venom is directed more towards herself and not him. "I have to go; where is my bag? Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. Oh god."

"Liv, wait. Liv…"

"I can't wait. I have to go now. It's almost 3pm; she'll be home soon. I'm always there when she gets home. Always. I have to go…"

When she comes home? When who comes home? The more she speaks, the more riddles her words form. Elliot scratches the light scruff of his chin. He doesn't even know if she's talking to him any more; she's just rattling off into space.

"I promised myself I wouldn't be like Serena, and now look at me. I've gotta go. Oh god, I'm sorry…." She's inching towards the door.

Four years and she's still the most stubborn person he's ever met. "Olivia, will you just wait a damn minute. You don't even have pants on!"

She halts at his words, her fingers wrapped around the door handle. Her brown eyes glancing down at her stocking clad legs. His t-shirt sits mid thigh and her feet are tucked into her black dress shoes; her hair is disheveled. A redness creeps across her cheeks.

If it weren't for the panic contorting her features, he'd find her entire ensemble cute and endearing.

"Will you slow down here, where are you running to – again? Who are you running to that you can't even take two seconds to put your skirt back on."

Something flits across her eyes - a look he can't quite describe falls across her face. It's the same look that had been on her face last night, when she'd been so adamant that he'd eventually hate her. Whatever she's hiding from him is threatening to tear her apart.

"Liv…"

She runs a hand through her tangled tresses, biting at her bottom lip. "Elliot, I -" she takes a step back from the door and turns to him. Her fingers reach up to wrap around the chain that hangs from her neck. "Ella, she's -"

Her sentence hangs unfinished in air.

The front door opens to reveal Kathy, clad in her nursing scrubs and balancing a medium sized pizza in one hand and his apartment keys in the other. Her blonde locks are pulled back in a neat pony and she wears a face full of pristine makeup.

Shit.

Elliot's eyes go wide, his mouth dry. He curses himself. He forgot he'd given her his extra key and that she'd told him she was stopping by.

Hell, he'd forgotten about her altogether. His girlfriend of seven months hadn't been a blimp on his radar the entire night. Not when he'd kissed Olivia, not when he'd almost taken her to bed, and most definitely not when he'd fallen asleep with her in his arms.

The blonde's blue eyes dance between the pair, recognition flitting across her irises when she sets sight on Olivia. " _Olivia Benson?_ Oh my god. You're...wow."

Olivia forces a smile. "Hi. I uh, Kathy, right? Kathy Malone? Nice to see you again, but I really need to get going." With that, Olivia breaks from the living room and rushes back into Elliot's bedroom.

Elliot moves to follow her, throwing Kathy an 'I'll explain later' look, but before he can even turn back around, (now fully dressed) Olivia's skittering to the front door.

He moves to follow her, reaching out to grab her wrist, but Olivia jerks away.

"I have to go, Elliot. I'll be – I'm coming back." And with that, Olivia disappears down the hall, dressed in his t-shirt, her skirt, and black stockings. Wherever she's running off to, she's in a hurry.

A sinking feeling builds in the bottom of Elliot's stomach and he has half the mind to chase after her. She'd left him with more questions that answers last night and now he doesn't know if he'll ever see her again.

Despondent, he shuts his apartment door.

 _I'm coming back._ Soon, he hoped.

A set of piercing blue eyes that brim with tears meets his. Kathy.

"I guess I don't have to ask how you held up last night."

Well. Shit


	7. Empty Gold

**A/N:** Alright, I apolgize for how long it took me to publish this. It was not an easy chapter to write. Big thank you to Lindsey for all of her help. Without her, I probably wouldn't be publishing this.

I can't promise a quick update to follow because I have school things to do, so a heads up there.

There will be blood, so I apologize in advance. So many questions answer, yet so many more are raised.

Enjoy.

* * *

 _I guess I don't have to ask how you held up last night._

Kathy's gaze is melancholic and unwavering; her blue eyes brim with tears. A few stray droplets drip mascara-muddled trails down her cheeks.

He's never wanted to hurt her – he's never imagined that the look on her face would be his doing. For seven months she's been his anchor; tied him to the present and managed to pull him from his depression.

And in a heartbeat he'd forgotten her, betrayed her by inviting another woman into his bed.

But Olivia isn't just another woman – she'll never be. No matter how many times she crashes into his life like a riptide that takes him in the undertow. No matter how many times she cuts him open, takes what she needs, and runs off like a thief in the night. He's irrevocably and arrantly in love with her. Something he's never been in with the woman in front of him.

"Did you sleep with her?" Kathy goes straight for his carotid.

Elliot's eyes slide to the floor and he drags a hand down his face. He sighs in indignation, angry with himself and the situation, not Kathy.

Tentatively, he reaches a hand out. His fingers brush over the outside of one of Kathy's wrists that hangs limply to her side. She jerks away immediately crossing her arms over her chest.

"Did. You. Sleep. With. Her."

 _No. Yes_. In a way far worse than just physical touch. He'd held Olivia throughout the night, listened to her breath, and felt the rhythm of her heart beat beneath his fingertips. He'd traced the laugh lines that had accumulated around her mouth, kissed the slope of her nose, and breathed her in. What he'd done had been far worse than a few moments of physical gratification. Without thought, he'd given himself – his heart and love – to Olivia.

"Kathy…"

She shakes her head, her sleek, blonde ponytail bouncing back and forth. "I didn't care about coming in second to her in high school. We were just kids. Stupid kids with stupid crushes who thought we knew about the world. But I'm not going to come in second to her now."

Although he wants to tell Kathy differently, he can't. The words won't push past his lips and fall from his mouth. He can't force them out. He can't contest any of what she's said because she's right. The insignificant relationship he'd shared with Kathy for a few months his freshman year of high school had, like most of his life, been catalyzed by Olivia Benson.

At nine years old, he'd jumped from the top of the jungle gym because he'd watched Olivia do so. Unlike her, he'd flubbed his landing, resulting in a broken wrist. There'd been his first suspension, the time he'd come to her aid in class. When he was thirteen, he'd taken up baseball because that was the year Olivia began to show boys attention, and vice versa. Thirteen-year-old Olivia had only seemed to show boys who played sports interest, so he joined. At sixteen she'd rearranged his life so completely and without pause that he hadn't been able to function for nearly three years.

Olivia Benson is – and always has been – his alpha and omega. And for that, he can't apologize.

"Kathy…." He says her name once more, pausing as he fights to find more words than just a meaningless repetition of her name. "I – she – I didn't know she was coming back. I didn't know she was alive. Please…."

Kathy takes a few steps back, her crosses her arms and wipes at her eyes. She turns away from him and walks over to the counter where her car keys and purse rest. Silently, she gathers her things. The pizza she bought him still rests untouched on the counter and she takes a key off of her key ring, it lands on the cardboard with a dull thud. She doesn't look at Elliot as she crosses the few steps to the door.

She's leaving, and Elliot's conflicted. He doesn't want to see her go. He doesn't want to lose the purity and simplicity of their friendship. He loves her. He's just not _in_ love with her.

Her hand is turning the door-handle when he finally finds the courage to stop her. His fingers catch her right elbow, holding her in place. "Please, wait…"

"I've been waiting for you for too long, El. I thought one day you'd forget about her, but you never did, and now she's back. I can't keep loving someone who is in love with someone else."

And with that, she disappears just as Olivia had only minuets prior. His door closes with a click and he's more confused and lost now than he ever has been before.

/

Five days go by and he's still yet to hear from Olivia.

He's starting to think he'd dreamed her up. All of the stress and anxiety from burying his father – it makes sense. Go figure he's just as batty as his mother.

But as much as he wants to believe that, he knows it's not true. While Olivia had been (and is) a phantom of many of his dreams, five days ago she'd been real.

Her flesh had been soft and supple beneath his fingertips; her breathing had steadied his heartbeat. She'd been real.

And now she's gone. Again. This time she left no note either, just his bleeding heart, ripped apart by her hands once again.

"Do you know where your father put the stepping stool?" Bernie's soft voice sounds over Elliot's rapidly combusting thoughts.

He looks up from the spot on his eyes had been trained on, on the water warped oak dining room table to find his mother, her blonde hair pulled into a loose chignon, wearing a bright yellow dress with sunflowers on it, staring at him. Her normally bright blue eyes are a dullish grey color, which means that she's taken her medicine. For that, Elliot considers himself grateful. When Bernie is in one of her moods, she's impossible to deal with. His emotions are already exacerbated; he can't handle much more.

"Do I what?"

Bernie shakes her head, flailing her arms in a 'never-mind' motion before she sits down across from Elliot.

An awkward silence slips between the mother son pair. Elliot keeps his unfocused gaze on the wall behind his mother. Olivia occupies his thoughts again.

"You've been here three days in a row, Elliot. You don't have to babysit me. I'm okay. I'm taking my meds and your aunt is here. Go home; go live your life; go call Kathy. You've spent too much time being miserable. Please."

Elliot chuckles lowly, no humor in his tone, only a soft somberness. "Kathy's gone Ma, we broke up."

"She broke up with you a week after your father died? I knew that little girl was trouble. Those sweet eyes and that soft voice – she broke your heart right after you buried–" Motherly righteous indignation laces her voice; her face hardens.

"It was a mutual decision, ma."

The fight in Bernie deflates; her expression softens. She reaches across the table, her delicate fingers rubbing soothing circles along the top of his hand. "You're still in love with Olivia."

Her words catch Elliot off guard. His eyes go wide and he ducks his head, suddenly fascinated by the visible rings of the wood on the table. This is a conversation he doesn't want to have, especially when he's already a raw nerve.

"You can say it out loud, El. I know you love her. I've always known. Ever since you two were parading around here as ten-year-olds. The way you looked at her, it was the same way your father had once looked at me."

Not loved, love. Which means . . . "How –"

"Ben told me she stopped by the funeral home. Sweet considering your father hated her and made it his life's mission to be as much of an ass as he could be to her. He thought she wasn't good enough for you. Funny considering your grandmother said the same thing about him…."

Elliot draws his bottom lip into his mouth and bites down. The anger bubbles in his gut as he thinks about his father. Ever since Olivia had blown back into his life the week prior, Joe Stabler's been a constant in his thoughts. Dealing with his death, his lies…. There'd been so much tension, so much resentment between the father and son. Elliot detested his father's incessant need to dominate and control everyone and thing, especially his family.

And the end result for Elliot had been four years of misery; of thinking the girl he loves was quite possibly dead.

"You spent the night with Olivia, didn't you? I can tell." A smile tugs at Bernie's lips as she asks the question. "She came by to see you."

He groans. "Ma…." They were not going to have this conversation; teatime is over.

"What, I don't want to know if you had sex with her. I just want to know if you talked to her. Sheesh. She's been gone for four years, Elliot. Contrary to how your father treated her, I quite adored her. She was good for you; helped you live. I didn't worry about her like you did, but I still did. Maybe I want to know what she said; how she's doing; if she's okay."

Yeah, he wanted to know that too.

"I haven't talked to her since Sunday morning – afternoon – but something happened to her; something bad because she wouldn't tell me. She thinks I'll hate her…."

Bernie squeezes his hand. "You could never hate her. Your heart's too big. That's your downfall. I wanted you to hate her after she disappeared. I thought it'd make it easier on you. I thought it'd make you miss her less."

Elliot drags the knuckles of his free hand along his chin, itching the short stubble that sprouts on his chin. Like Bernie, he's wished many nights; many times that he could find it in his heart to hate Olivia. He remembers the day he trashed his room and cursed her name. The vitriol he'd unleashed and the malice she'd instilled in his heart by disappearing had summated and declined faster than the Space Shuttle Challenger disaster.

"I wanted to hate her, too. I tried to." He candidly reveals.

"But you couldn't. You don't have it in you to hate. Not Olivia. Not your father. Even when they hurt you. You get angry. Your anger turns to rage, rage you won't let morph into hate so you turn it inward…."

Silently Elliot listens as his mother (correctly) assesses him, his personality. He wants to disagree with her; contest that he is capable of hate because assholes like Brian Cassidy and exist because Joe Stabler felt the need to ruin his life, but he doesn't. Truth is, he doesn't know much about himself, really, about what he's capable of. He'd wanted – wants to – hate Olivia. He's tried, but all of his anger deflates, the rage dissipates when he sees her face and when he realizes she's alive. So many nights the last four years he'd spent terrified and waiting to hear his deepest fears confirmed.

The conversation grows too close to the bone for comfort, and Elliot finds himself shifting in place. A screeching sound fills the air as the chair legs scratch across the hardwood floors. He walks around the table and over to where Bernie is seated and places a soft kiss to the top of her blonde strands. "Ma, I should probably–"

"Take the car and go find Olivia, El. We both know that's what you want to do. Don't make up any excuses about where you've got to be. Stop bullshitting yourself and go. Don't worry about me, or about Benny; we'll be just fine."

If only, he thinks, it was that simple. If only he could be like his mother and just drop everything to follow his heart – to face his fears. Breathy, somber laughter spills from his lips and one of Bernie's hands reach up to squeeze his.

"Being afraid of fire doesn't keep you from getting burnt. It stops you from chasing sunrises."

"This isn't a fairytale, Ma. What if she doesn't want to be found? She stayed away for four years. She-"

"Came back for you."

"Because dad died."

"Because she was worried about how you'd take it. Look, I can't defend her; I don't know what happened. All I know is that you've been in love with that little girl since day one. You owe it to yourself to find her."

"And what if I don't? For four years –"

"And what if you do? What-ifs go both ways. Don't live your life like your father and only think about the negatives. Sometimes you just have to jump."

 _Sometimes you just have to jump._ Four years ago he'd jumped. He'd leapt straight into a pool of whatever and head over heels into the worst and best thing to ever happen to him. His head pulls in twenty different directions, his mother's words ringing in his ears. The twelve years he'd spent with Olivia come back to him in flashes. Snippets of smiles, late nights, play fights, and more flood his memory.

Fuck it. He's going to jump. What else does he have to lose?

He places one last kiss to the top of his mother's head and squeezes her shoulder before he takes off, grabbing the car keys from the dish in the hall by the front door, as he goes.

For someone with her own set of issues; eccentricities that are the result of an illness not quite understood and the recent death of her husband, Bernie still manages to be his mother. This thought alone gives Elliot hope.

He's going to find Olivia.

/

Or not.

An hour and a half later Elliot finds himself, frustrated, driving in circles, and gas running low. Silently he chastises himself for forgetting to fill up on gas. Joe usually did it, but now, like everything else, it is Elliot's job.

Compared to New York City, Cranford is the size of shoebox. But that doesn't make finding Olivia any easier. Clearly, he had not thought this through. In his haste and eagerness to find her, he'd forgotten that he doesn't know exactly where she is. Cranford is all he seems to remember.

Slowly, he runs through the night she'd shown up to his apartment. Behind him, a horn honks, and he takes a left to nowhere.

Everything from that night seems to blur together. The overwhelming sense of relief that'd risen within him after finding her alive, paired with the anger at her for abandoning him, topped with the melancholy of knowing only an increment of what she'd endured out on the streets, had all been too much for him to dissect. It is why he'd held so tightly to her, why he'd ached to feel her flesh beneath his fingers. He'd sought confirmation that he hadn't dreamt it all up. That she –

It hits him then, her words. When she'd tried to leave that night, insisted on it, she'd given him an address. He wracks his brain, his knuckles going white as he grips the steering wheel. She'd said something – she'd given him the answers on how to find her – but he'd been preoccupied. Between her lack of complete dress, his thumping heart, and jumbled thoughts, he'd been paying minute attention to the semantics of her speech.

 _Last house on a dead in street. Rose._

Rose!

He almost sideswipes the car in the lane next to him as he shifts lanes, pulling all the way over to the left hand side. The first store he spots, he pulls into the parking lot, jumps out and sets off in search of directions.

/

About twenty-three minutes later, he finds himself in front of a split-level house on a quiet street. It's a plain house, with yellow siding, pale blue shutters, and an enclosed porch; the garage is connects to the house and a privacy fence keeps prying eyes out. In front of the house sits rose bushes and an oversized tree with a swing resting from an outstretched branch.

Minutes tick by as he stares at the house. The heavy thrum of his heartbeat fills his ears. It'd been so much simpler days ago, when she'd just sprung herself on him, literally. But now, as he has time to think about the situation, think about her, he's at a loss. He's over-thinking and uncertain. What if this is a mistake? What if his memory had failed him and he's in front of some stranger's house? What if she's running again? What if?

It's now or never, Elliot thinks, silencing his overwhelming thoughts with a heavy sigh. A finger at a time, he lets the steering wheel loose and wriggles his fingers.

He doesn't know what to expect or how to go about this as he puts his hand on the door handle to exit the vehicle.

A taping sound catches his attention and he looks up to see Olivia, standing in front of his passenger's window, knocking on the glass.

He hadn't even seen her come out of the house.

"Are you just going to sit in front of my house all day like a creep?" Her muffle voice sounds through the window and he can't help the small smile that tugs at his face at the sight of her. Even in the plainest of attire – just a fitted white t-shirt and a pair of jeans and not a stitch of makeup on her face – she's breath taking.

"Hello, my neighbor's gonna call the cops in a minute."

Shaking from his self-imposed stupor, he hurries out of the car and she's already making her way into the house. He follows behind her, just like he'd done almost four years to the date prior.

/

The screen door slams shut behind him with a harsh snap as he steps through the threshold of a house he's never seen before – a stranger's house. He feels awkward as he stands by the front door, perched against the doorjamb. Olivia's disappeared into the house and doesn't know if he should follow.

His eyes flit about, studying the inside of the house, as he waits for her return. There's a matching sofa and love-seat set the color of sand that all surround a medium length coffee table. The carpet is a crème color and on the walls are pictures of people he's never seen before, all encased in gold color frames. His eyes stop on a picture of an older couple, a balding tall man who stands straight and sturdy, like a cop, and presumably his wife, an older woman with reddish blonde hair. In the photo they stand with a little girl – a toddler – no taller than two feet. The little girl has long brown hair and bright blue eyes. She holds up a doll with birthday-themed wrapping paper dangling from one of its legs. Everyone in the photo is all-smiles.

Something draws Elliot to the photo and he finds his feet moving in the direction of the photo that rests against the wall the love-seat is pressed against, but he's stopped by the sound of Olivia's voice. Her soft footsteps tread across the carpet and then she's standing in front of him.

"So you found me." She starts before she glances back at where Elliot's eyes are trained.

Peeling his eyes away from the photo and down to Olivia, he shrugs his shoulders and keeps his voice level. "You told me where to find you and it'd been a week…I didn't think you were coming back – again."

Olivia's gaze drops to the carpet, Elliot's gaze follows suit. He notes that she's not wearing any shoes and that explains their current height difference.

"I was always coming back, El. I just had something that needed my attention this week. It came up unexpectedly and I'm sorry…"

His first inclination is to ask if she's okay, but he stops himself just short and waits for her to give him an explanation. He can't keep being the one who pushes for the truth and for answers.

"But that doesn't matter right now. I owe you an explanation and some answers," she grabs his hand. "Take off your shoes and follow me."

He does as he's told but not before shutting the front door first.

Olivia leads him down a small flight of stair, into the kitchen, and then past the kitchen to a landing that opens to another set of stairs. His hand sweats inside hers and he pauses as she flips on a light switch before leading him into what he presumes is a basement.

It is. They're standing in a fully furnished and finished basement, complete with an empty bar off the right. Unlike the room he'd been in upstairs, the room he stands in is bright and full of color. The couch is a deep blue and the walls are decorated in small colorful hand-prints. Kids' toys consisting of trucks and Play-Doh, Barbie dolls and beanie babies are strewn shoved into a corner in an over-sized toy chest. On the front of the toy chest is a large gold E. An over-sized television sits across from the couch and a small bright pink and blue bike with training wheels still attached rests against a wall.

Olivia lets go of his hand, and walks over to a door that rests behind the over-sized TV. She pushes it opened and disappears inside. When she comes back, she has a powder pink scrapbook clutched to her chest.

She shuffles her way over to the couch and sits down.

"You came here for answers, El, I'm ready to answer all your questions…."

Like a deer caught in headlights, Elliot finds his way over to Olivia. He sits down next to her and rests his elbows on the tops of knees. He has so many questions, so many, yet simultaneously, none at all.

"El…."

"You just have to give me a minute here, Olivia. I don't – I'm…"

"I know. I'm sorry. I don't want to overwhelm you here, it's just, I don't want to lose my nerve either…"

Elliot nods at her words, chuckling more so to himself than at her words. It hits him then how they may be for years older, but they're acting like their twelve year old selves after their first kiss, dancing around each other uncertainly.

Bernie's voice pops into his head. _Jump._

"Whose house is this? Where'd you go? _What happened_?"

Olivia sighs heavily, and smiles a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Well, I can answer the first two questions if I answer the last question first..."

"Whatever you need to do, whatever you have to say, just…please. I won't – I promise I won't hate you."

"That's a promise you can't keep…"

"But I will."

Her disheveled brown locks bounce in place as she bobs her head in understanding, although Elliot's certain she doesn't believe him.

"Like I told you a couple of days ago, I ended up in a youth shelter in Cranford. My shoulder was pretty busted and I had nothing except the clothes on my back. They pegged me as a runaway right away, but told them I was 18 and that my ID had been stolen with my bags. I knew they'd run my name through missing persons, so I told them it was Olivia Stabler…"

Elliot smiles.

"Anyways, the shelter had a counselor, a social worker, a volunteer nurse, and even a nun: Sister Peg; the most un-nun-like woman you'll ever meet. She helped me get my I.D and this really crappy waitressing job. About two months into my stay at the shelter and about three months, pushing four of me being gone, I started getting really sick.

I couldn't eat anything - no crackers or ginger ale either - I'd throw up everything. Marge, the nurse, came in one day and I guess I was in pretty bad shape because she wanted me to go to the hospital; she'd said something about a staph infection because of my shoulder. I tried to argue, but ended up falling flat on my face. I was taken to Trinitas hospital where Marge worked - she told the staff I was her niece. They admitted me right away; I'd been running a fever, and kept me overnight. They did blood tests and…" she breaks off. A few tears roll down her cheeks.

"It turned out that I was pregnant. About four months give or take a couple of weeks."

Pregnant.

All of the sound is sucked out of the room save for the ringing in his ears and the beating of his heart. The air goes stale.

"Preg – pregnant?"

He blinks, the blood draining from his face, his heartbeat quickening. He has to dig his non-existent nails into his knees to anchor himself to the moment. "Pregnant, as in she has a child. She had a baby. She _has_ a baby.

Does that mean? His mind begins to race, calculating. Almost four months pregnant after leaving – after being gone for four months – after they'd had sex for the first and only time.

Suddenly, it all makes sense. Her ramblings at his apartment, the raised skin on her stomach, and the difference in her shape not just the product of some adolescent weight gain.

"Say something, El…please…."

"You...you had a baby?'

"Yeah," her voice is almost inaudible. "I did - _we_ did. You're her father."

 _Her. Her father? I have a daughter? I have a -_

Elliot's mouth falls open, in shock. He barely pays attention to the rustling plastic sound and he only registers that Olivia's taken up the space next to him when she touches his wrist.

He pulls away, standing. His feet begin to lead him in circles. He needs room to breath, to think.

Olivia Benson had been pregnant. Olivia Benson has a daughter. He has a daughter. They -

"I…you...a baby. We. But… how?"

"Condoms aren't foolproof, El. I guess that night we, we had sex, it didn't work or there was a hole, I don't know. I just know that I walked away pregnant. Her name is Ella…" The four letters of the necklace that hang around Olivia's neck suddenly make much more sense now. Ella hadn't been a disguise or an alias; she's his daughter. "She's three and a half year's old. I…here." Olivia tells him, and she holds out her hand, a Polaroid dangles from her fingertips like an olive branch.

His blue eyes catch sight of the photo and wearily, he reaches out to grab it. His fingers close around the glossy paper and his eyes land on the image.

A baby, no more than a couple of hours old, swaddled in a pink blanket is snuggled tightly against Olivia's chest. Photo Olivia looks exhausted, her hair is sweat matted and her face is swollen. Dirty tear tracks stained her cheeks and her dark eyes are lugubrious, though she smiles.

Try as he might, he can't reconcile the photo in hand with the girl who he used to know, the girl who'd never lie to him about something _this_ important.

Elliot's heart clenches in his chest, the room spins. He's going to pass out. Throw up. Cry.

Something in him cracks then, it spiders out and he's left ripped open. Invisible fissures and fault lines cut across his chest.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Elliot's voice is hoarse; he doesn't take his eyes off the photo even though it's killing him to look at it.

"I'm sorry…I-I tried."

"I have a daughter – she's…she's mine?" he holds up the picture and something inside him begins to burn, like salt being poured into an open wound.

"She is. She was 6 lbs," Olivia gets to her feet and walks towards him, the scrapbook she'd gotten out minutes ago clutched to her chest, "and 4ozs in that photo. I think she was about two hours old…"

The burning intensifies in Elliot's chest, his fingers shake. He takes a step backwards, and his eyes catch sight of a framed photo resting on the wall above the toy box. It's a photo of Olivia with the little girl he recognizes from the picture upstairs. In the photo, the duo each have a pink butterfly painted onto their left cheek, and they laugh at the camera.

Elliot feels like he's on fire. He can't see straight and he feels like the world is spinning beneath his feet. Out of all the things he's thought she was hiding, this hadn't been on his list.

A child, they have a child.

He finally recognizes the burning for what it is, anger. Simmering rage that he's fighting to control. It's bubbling up and he's not sure how much longer he can keep it intact. The relief, the excitement all from knowing she's alive mutates, the pain from being left sharpens, and the hurt from being lied to blooms.

He's a grenade and his pin's been pulled.

"Olivia, why…you, you didn't tell me. Four years and you didn't – couldn't find the time to tell me that you had my baby?" Little by little the anger bleeds into his tone.

Days ago he couldn't wait to have her front in of him. Seeing her again had been his number one priority. Now he can't even look at her; the pain is too acute.

"Elliot, I – I tried. I did. Twice. I called shortly after Ella was born and Joe answered, so I hung up. I tried again last year, I came into the city to see you, but I ended up running into Joe again. I just wanted to see you, to tell you, but I had to be careful because of my mom. I didn't want her to know about Ella. Anyways, I thought if I told your dad about Ella, he'd tell me where you were, so I could tell you.

But it didn't happen that way. I knew he didn't like me, but I didn't expect him to be so mean. He laughed in my face and told me to go crawl back under whatever rock I'd crawled out from…"

Her words fade out, her voice disappears and the ringing in his ears intensify. For some reason, Elliot finds it hard if not impossible to truly listen and believe what she's saying. He wants to, but he can't. Not when she's kept something this important from her for so long. And not when he hears Joe's voice crawl into his thoughts.

 _That little girl has never been nothing but trouble, Elliot. She stepped on your heart for fun. This has all been one big game to her, what other reason would she have for not telling you she had your child? You know I would've loved my grandchild…_

Elliot shakes his head. Blinking rapidly a few times, but to no avail. As bright and as clear as the sunshine after rain, Joe's voice continues to taunt him.

 _You've spend your life chasing after her because she's not a good girl. Look at what she was raised by. Look how she acts. You think she cares about anyone but herself. She uses you because you're stupid enough to let her. A hard head makes for a soft ass, boy. I've tried to tell you that. And look at where it's gotten you. I might've been a bastard, but at least I always told you the truth. I told you that you needed a good girl. I told you that you needed to stay away from Olivia Benson or you'd end up here. Now look at you. Look at you._

Elliot's voice cracks and climbs when he speaks next. "You're really going to blame my dad right now, you're really going to do this? He's dead – kinda convenient right. You should've told me!"

"I tried!" She reaches an arm out, her fingers barely glimpsing his left wrist before he pulls back again. He needs space from her.

"Not hard enough! I have a daughter, Olivia!"

"The things Joe said to me, the things he called me. I didn't want that around my daughter. I didn't want her hated because of me. You know, he asked me if I knew she was really yours because I was a slut, just like my mother!"

It's all just too much. Just too much at once. Before he can truly contemplate what she's saying, he explodes, Joe's voice taking precedence in his head. The anger over takes him and the improvident words fall from his lips before he can truly assess the impact they'll have.

"Well, let's face it Olivia, you weren't exactly the Virgin Mary!"

It's quick and catches him off guard, his head violently snapping to the side before he realizes that she's hit him. The pink photo-book that'd been in her hand rests on the floor between them, and Olivia's brown eyes are red with tears.

"Fuck you."

Regret immediately mingles with the anger as he brings his over-sized fingers to his stinging cheek.

A heavy silence sits between them both. Above them, Elliot can hear the front door creak open and fall shut. The sound of heavy footsteps followed by the pitter-patter of little feet resound against the ceiling. The footsteps get closer until they're skipping down the basement steps.

"Momma, momma, momma!" A light voice shouts.

Elliot turns just in time to see a little girl, no more than three-feet tall, with long dark brown hair that hangs down to her waist, rush by in a blur of bright colors and giggles.

Ella?

 _Ella._


	8. Miles Away

**A/N:** Sorry for the delay folks, but my studying comes first. Believe me, for someone who hasn't taken Geometry since George W. Bush was president, I'd much rather be writing. But alas, I want to further my education and truly become an obnoxious and pretentious erudite, so here we are.

For those reading Strawberry Wine: I haven't abandoned it, clearly I got distracted. Hopefully you'll see an update soon. Once again, though, studying is my first priority.

Things are getting interesting folks. Let's see how our kiddies get out this predicament.

Thanks to Lindsey for being her awesome self as per usual & to Jackie for being my little ball of joy.

Hope you enjoy.

* * *

 _Ella._

Elliot's heart speeds up, his mouth goes dry, and his eyes go wide. The world moves in slow motion, as Elliot's eyes stay glued to the child in front of him, mesmerized. She's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. A brown-haired angel. Everything about her is Olivia, from her heart shaped face, right down to the pout of her mouth, except for her eyes. The little girl has bright, ice blue eyes that pop against her pale olive skin. Her cheeks are also fuller and her eyebrows thicker.

"Momma, momma, momma!" Ella launches herself into Olivia's already awaiting arms.

 _Momma._ Olivia's a mom.

And he's a dad. _He's Ella's dad._

"Papa and Gigi buy me icescream for my assma." The toddler announces merrily; she throws both of her tiny hands into the air in a sign of triumph. "Gigi say I can have one if mom is yes. Peas?" she throws Olivia her best smile, but just as quickly as her smile comes, it goes.

The toddler's eyebrows furrow together on her forehead. Elliot watches as the little girl - his daughter -senses her mother's sadness, sadness he's caused.

"Momma, no cry. No cry momma. No sad." Ella whispers, her own voice, as small and as precious as it is, cracking beneath her worry.

The words seem to only make Olivia cry harder.

Subconsciously, Elliot takes a step, his arm stretching out towards Olivia's shoulder in a comforting gesture, but stops short. He can't comfort what he's caused. His words, they'd been purposefully engendering. Once again, his eyes fall onto Ella. Her tiny hands furiously wipe at Olivia's tears.

"Momma no cry peas. Peas no cry. I don't want the icescream. I don't want it. I sorry. I sorry."

Olivia sniffles, bouncing Ella on her hip before she places a kiss on the little girl's head. Elliot's heart shatters in his chest. He'd been privy to similar scenes such as a kid with his own parents, and now here he is….

"You didn't do it, baby. Momma just isn't feeling well."

Ella drops her hands from her mother's face and wraps her arms around her mother's neck, holding tightly. "I make it better mommy, I make it better."

 _Look at what you're doing you ass. Say something, say anything,_ Elliot thinks, but suddenly his throat is too dry and he can't speak. He can't make his lips move or the words find a way out. All he can manage is a rough and low, "Liv…."

Olivia looks at him, her eyes red and filled with an emotion he can't describe. Fury? Hurt? Contrition?

 _I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. I didn't._ He opens his mouth to try again when the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs splits his concentration.

Elliot turns to see the old balding man from the photo on the wall in the living room make his way into the basement. He's carrying a box and mumbling as he goes. "Marge bought s-u-g-a-r f-r-e-e Popsicles and the pharmacist said this humidifier should help with -" the man stops short, the box dropping to the ground and his eyes flit between the trio.

"Hello. I didn't know we had company…you okay, Liv?"

Elliot can answer that, he almost does, but Olivia speaks before he's afforded a chance. "I'm okay, Don. This is Elliot...and he was just leaving."

Somehow the words manage to find their way to the surface. He glances at Ella who pays him no mind, and then speaks, "Liv, I'm...we still need to talk."

"I think you've said enough. I've gotta take care of _my_ daughter. Bye, Elliot."

"Olivia-"

Don, as Olivia had referred to him minutes ago, clears his throat. He walks towards the stairs; the discarded Vic's humidifier box rests abandoned in the middle of the floor. "Time to go, son."

Elliot doesn't bother arguing, it's not worth the effort, not when his own foots so far down his throat it's almost coming out of his ass.

He's just gotten her back and now he's going to lose her again, and this time it's his fault.

/

When the Jersey skyline disappears from his rearview mirror and the familiar sounds, sights, and smells of New York assault his senses, Elliot pulls over to the nearest vacant lot. The gravel churns beneath car tires before coming to a halt.

A few stragglers, probably addicts looking for their next score, watch him with curious eyes, but he doesn't care. He gets out of the car, keys in hand, the rage radiating from the top of his head to the very tips of his toes.

Before he knows it, his fists are slamming against the steel of the driver's door. The dull thud of bone against metal sounds over and over again.

 _Four fucking years and she's mad at_ me? _She's the one who left. Not me. I stayed behind waiting like some fucking idiot. She probably had a real good laugh at the dumbass back in Brooklyn. And to kick me out. After telling me I have a daughter. I have a daughter I didn't even get to see because whoever the hell that guy…_

 _I could never regret you or this._

 _I'm here, I'm real._

 _You're going to hate me._

His fists slam into the steal one last time, his foot connects with the thick rubber of the front tower and he shouts, "Fuck you, Olivia! Fuck you!"

/

Hours pass in monotonous tandem, his emotions vacillating between pure anger – rage – and remorse. He doesn't go home, he can't go to his mother's; she'll want details he's not willing to give. So he goes to the one place – the one person he knows he _can_ go to, though if he _should_ go still remains the question.

Floorboards creak beneath his weight as he climbs the stairs in two. Somewhere in the deep recesses of his thoughts he knows he shouldn't be here. This isn't fair to her. But he doesn't where else to go. She's pulled him back from the edge before and tonight he needs her to do the same.

There's no hesitation as his hand beats against the aluminum, only anxiousness and fear with a little pain intermingled. He flexes his bruised knuckles.

 _Knock. Knock. Knock._

It's yet to dawn on him that she might not be home. That she might be on a date or carrying on with her life. Like he should be doing. They're not together any more. His feelings aren't her responsibility.

On the fourth knock, her door swings open. In front of him she stands, dressed in a pair of flannel pajamas and a shirt he recognizes as his own. Her blonde hair hangs in long strands down her back; exhaustion is etched into the soft lines around her mouth.

"What are you doing here?" her tone is neutral, her voice level as she crosses her arms over her chest.

What's he doing here? Comfort? A listening ear? Fuck, he doesn't know. All he knows is that he drove to the first place he could think of to see the first person he knew wouldn't judge him.

"Can I come in?"

"Look, El, I don't think that's a good idea. I'm pretty tired and-"

"I just really need a friend right now, Kathy. I know this isn't fair to you, but I just need someone to listen."

A long drawn out sigh slips from Kathy's soft pink lips and she shifts on her feet. "Come on..." She tells him as she steps aside; her door creaks as it swings on its hinges and Elliot heads inside.

/

A pregnant silence sits between the former lovers.

Elliot doesn't know where to begin or what to say. He rests his elbows on his kneecaps; his eyes are trained on the wall opposite where he sits on the corner of Kathy's couch. A picture of them - he and Kathy - at Coney Island stares back at him.

He doesn't know how he got here; how just three weeks ago he and Kathy were riding bikes through central park and his heart didn't feel like it's been rolled through glass shards, and now nothing makes sense any more.

Somehow in two short weeks he's lost a father, gained a daughter, and come to realise the one person in this world he'd always thought to know better than anyone else, he's never known at all.

Across the room, a bleary eyed Kathy sighs; she runs her perfectly manicured fingers through her knotted blonde hair and he realises that he must have woke her up. Great, another reason for him to feel culpable.

"Elliot," she starts, her voice low, tinged with sleep, "it's almost 10pm; either tell me what's up or say goodnight."

What's up? How about the fact that he's a father. He has a daughter. She's almost three. Three years old with a head full of dark locks, cherub cheeks, and the brightest blue eyes he'd ever seen. Eyes he's seen before on his mother's face.

The words fall from his mouth, running from his lips as if they were on fire. "Do you think, you think I'd make a good a good father?"

Confusion flits across Kathy's bright eyes along with a look Elliot can't quite place. Remorse? Sadness? Reluctance?

"You woke me up out of bed to ask that? I have a bio test tomorrow and then an eight hour shift at work," she all but growls. "Seriously, what's this about? Where is this even coming from; you're barely twenty and -"

"I have a daughter." _I have a daughter._ The words feel foreign as they split from his lips.

The couch dips beneath Kathy's weight as she comes to sit next to him; her lips part to express the confusion and shock. "What?"

He sighs heavily, rubbing a hand down his face in exhaustion as his eyes slips closed; his brain's been running a mental marathon ever since he'd drove into Jersey earlier that day.

"The night before Olivia disappeared four years ago, we - we had sex. Me and Olivia. Uhm, it was my first time and," flashes of his sixteen year old self, nervous and over excited all at once flash across his eyelids. He remembers being self conscious and scared - afraid to touch Olivia, but by far from an unwilling participant. "I-I got her pregnant. She, she had a baby. She had _my_ baby." He keeps his eyes closed, unable to look Kathy's way. He knows the look that's more than likely on her face - it's the one he's been wearing since Olivia uttered _you're her father_ only hours ago.

"Oh my god; Elliot why - how…I mean, I know how, but I didn't know you two were seeing each other."

A bitter laugh he can't stop slips from his lip. "We weren't, we hadn't been; it just happened. But today, I went to see her, Olivia, and she told me that when she left she was pregnant…"

Next to him, he can hear Kathy take a deep breath. Her delicate hand is suddenly on his, squeezing gently.

"El, I don't know - I'm not sure what to say. She never said anything to you until today? Not even when she - she was in your apartment?"

He shakes his head thinking back to the harmless conversations they - he and Olivia - had had lying on his bed, pretending they hadn't been four years apart.

"No, she started to and then -" there's his guilt again, it stops him from finishing his sentence, from telling Kathy that that night had been too capricious and while nothing had transpired between he and Olivia, it hadn't been for lack of trying. "I don't, she kept saying that she had something to tell me that'd make me hate her and I didn't believe her. I didn't think it'd be possible to hate her, but...I have a daughter."

Kathy squeezes his fingers a little tighter; her voice is pillow light, as she speaks, "did she say why she didn't tell you sooner? Why she waited until after Joe's funeral to come back and tell you?"

There's that J word again. Elliot can't help but roll his eyes at the mention of his father's name. Joe, the reason everything always seemed to go to hell. Dead for two weeks, and somehow he managed to still be a bastard from beyond the grave.

"She said that my dad knew, but kept her away. I don't know if I can believe that. I don't. He wasn't a great man, but I don't know if he'd have been this vindictive. Would he have been this shitty to keep me from _my_ child? He's dead, I can't ask him."

"I can't answer that, El. I don't know how. Joe wasn't always the sweetest man, but he'd always been good to me . . ."

"Because he liked you," Elliot starts, he pulls his hand from Kathy's chest and sits forward, shuffling his bare feet (his shoes had been discarded at the door) on her carpet. "My dad hated Olivia. I don't know what it was about her, but he hated it. Froze her out, was rude to her, and never had a nice thing to say about her. She was trouble according to my dad…" He chuckles lowly, thinking of how right the last statement was. Olivia was a troublemaker, but her spirit and tenacity couldn't be denied.

"Once, when we were like thirteen, Olivia convinced me to take my dad's car out for a joyride. She called me a chicken, said I was scared, so I did it. I took out our neighbor's mailbox. My dad was gonna beat the shit out of me. He almost did until Olivia told him it was her fault. She told him that she took the car out and that her mom would pay for the repairs . . .." Elliot fondly recalls. "She wasn't allowed over for almost a year and Serena, her mom, lets just say Serena and Joe's discipline strategies weren't that different . . ..

But why would she pick now to lie about him? Why?" Elliot presses, though his question is more rhetorical if anything.

"Do you think she's lying?" Kathy counters.

"I don't know - that's the problem. Why didn't she tell me? Do I come off as an asshole that'd just let her twist in the wind while she was carrying my baby?"

"Never. I know you wouldn't. But, if he was as shitty to her as you're saying, maybe now was the only time she felt she could tell you the truth…"

"Today's the first time since she's come back that I wish she hadn't. I'm angry, Kath. I'm so fucking pissed at her."

 _I don't want you to hate me._

 _I couldn't._

 _But you will._

He gets to his feet abruptly and starts to move in anxiety filled circles. Olivia had warned him. She told him he'd hate her...and here they were. But what made him even angrier is the fact that while she'd predicted his hatred, she hadn't predicted the hurt. Elliot's hurting. She hadn't believed in him enough tell him; she hadn't reached out when she needed him like she always had.

"El, you've got to think," his former lover whispers, now sitting with her legs folded beneath her on the sofa, "if my math's right, Olivia was sixteen. She was probably scared - terrified - and alone."

"And she didn't have to be! I would've been there!" Elliot shouts louder than intended. "I would've been! I was only sixteen too, I was a kid, but I would've been there. For her, for my daughter. She didn't give me that option!"

"Probably because she didn't think she _had_ it. I'm not saying what she did was right - especially when I don't know why she ran away to begin with - but she was scared."

Elliot rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands, the anger bubbling in gut still, though starting to slowly fade into a dull pang. He remembers his conversation with Olivia the night he'd seen the knife mark on her back, the jagged and puckered skin foreign but familiar beneath his fingertips.

 _Why didn't you come home?_

 _Because I didn't have a home to come home to._

She didn't have a home to come home to; her mother had fallen off the wagon and probably would've only fell further if she'd known about her daughter's pregnancy.

When he speaks again, his tone changes, the anger doesn't dissipate in total, but slowly seeps out. He remembers the last words he'd said to her before she'd told him to leave, before their daughter had bounded into the stranger's basement announcing popsicles and playtime.

 _It's not like you were the Virgin Mary._

The words make him sick as they replay in his thoughts.

"El, there's something else. What else is wrong?" he hears Kathy's light voice ask.

"I said something to her - to Olivia - when I was pissed off. Something that I shouldn't have said."

Kathy sucks in a breath and then lets out what Elliot supposes is an exasperated sigh. "What did you say her?"

"I was pissed off and she kept giving me excuses . . . I. Remember what everyone used to say about her in high school? About her being easy?" He brings his eyes up to Kathy's, but doesn't elaborate on his words. He waits instead for her to fill in the blank, to find out on her own that he's the biggest asshole on the plant.

It only takes a second before Kathy's mouth drops open again, realization blooming in her blue eyes. "You didn't. The Elliot I know wouldn't call a girl that, especially the same Elliot who basically got suspended the last month of junior year because someone else called Olivia that."

The shame blooms inside of him, spreading across his chest, and he hangs his head low. He hadn't said the words slut or whore, but he'd implied them with malice. "I got mad," is his only defense.

"You're an asshole, you know that. You're allowed to be sad and to be hurt, but why would you hurt her...why would you _try_ to hurt her."

"I didn't think about it and as soon as the words came out, I wish I could've taken them back, but it was done. She was already pissed off."

"After everything you know about her, after what those guys tried to do to her because people liked to call her a slut or a whore or all of the above and you still said it…"

Elliot parts his lips to prepare his defense, to tell Kathy that his penance for such vitriol had been one hell of a slap to the face, but finds himself stuck on her words.

 _After what those guys tried to do to her…_

"Wait, what do you mean 'what those guys tried to do to her'?"

"You know what I'm talking about - in the locker room…"

But he doesn't know. He has no idea what she's talking about and he doesn't know if he wants to know. "I don't know, Kathy...did someone?"

"She never told you." Suddenly, Kathy gets to her feet, her socks sliding over her bare floors as she rushes her way into the kitchenette feet from her living room. "You want some coffee - water? My mom made lasagna last night, I brought some home; I can heat it up for you?"

She's babbling, moving at lightning speed about the kitchen.

With purpose, he treks into the kitchen, behind her. "What do you mean she never told me? What didn't she tell me?"

Pots and pans clang together as Kathy ignores him; she digs underneath her cabinet in search of something, a few seconds later she surfaces with a teakettle and heads to the stop. Elliot steps in front of it before she has a chance to put the pot on the stove.

"Kathy."

"I was just going to make tea or coffee or whatever…" she doesn't lift her eyes to meet his.

Gently, Elliot takes the pot from her. He dumps it onto the counter next to them and waits.

Clearly frustrated, Kathy runs a hand through her blonde locks. She tugs at the bottom of her pajama shirt and shakes her head. "It's not my story to tell…."

"Kathy, please…." he needs answers from her - if he doesn't get them his brain will fill in the blanks and more than likely make things much worse.

She breaks away from him and stalks back over to the couch, tossing herself down on sofa. Elliot follows her. "Guys never have to worry about this shit…." she laughing but there's no humor in her tone. "Someone calls you a slut - well it wouldn't happen for one - but if they did, it'd be fine. No one would care. Call a girl slut and you're ruining her life. Whether it's true or not. Suddenly every guy wants to do her and every girl hates her."

Elliot inwardly cringes, high school flashbacks cascading over him in waves. He thinks about the rumors written about Olivia on the bathroom walls; the fact that most of her girlfriends did seem to have disappeared once the word had got out that she would do anything in the back of a car.

"Anyways, I had gym sixth period - end of the day - with Olivia with Mr. Howard. After gym I had cheer practice so I was always one of the last to leave the locker rooms. I was standing behind the last row of lockers getting my stuff together when I heard a couple of guys come in. I was on my way to tell them to get out and get bent when I heard Olivia. Apparently she'd hung around for whatever reason and was trying to get dressed the two stooges came in."

The knot in the pit of Elliot's stomach tightens. He doesn't like where this story is going.

"Her locker was a few over from mine so I couldn't see them, I could only hear, but they were saying thing to her, disgusting things about knowing what she liked and how they'd heard she'd do anything or anyone once. Calling her a slut. Of course Olivia told them to fuck off, in so many words, but what's a no when everything already thinks you've said yes?"

 _Still a no_ , Elliot thinks as he feels his blood start to boil again.

"It all happened so fast, one minute she was telling them to shove it and the next I could hear fabric ripping and she was crying and they were laughing at her. She kept shouting for them to get off of her and saying no…they were gonna hurt her, and we both know how…."

If he had anything in his stomach, it'd be on her floor. He's gonna be sick. "Why didn't you do something; why didn't you go get help?" Elliot asks, unable to listen to any more.

"If you'd let me finish talking, you'd know that I did. Lucky for me, I shared a locker with Southerly and she had her softball bat in the locker. I started banging on the lockers with it and shouting at them to get out. They ran and when I rounded the lockers I could see Olivia on the ground crying. They'd ripped her shirt and aside from a swollen lip, she was okay.

Well, as okay as she could be. I let her borrow my cheer sweater to wear home and helped her pull it together after that. I tried to talk her into going to talk to Principal DuVall, but she wouldn't. She said no one would believe her and that everyone would think she either made it up for attention or that she actually did it…."

He thinks about high school, about the words etched into bathroom doors, the smugness of the assholes that'd always lie about having sex with Olivia, and how after a while she just got sick of fighting the gossip.

It takes everything in him to keep his voice level, his emotions in control because all he's sees is red, when he speaks next, "ah, she - she never told me."

 _She didn't think she could trust me._

"I thought she would have; she tells…" Kathy stops short. "Well, used to tell...look, point aside, you treated her just like those guys did when you called her that. Hell, coming from you it was probably worse."

 _Probably? Definitely._

"Look don't you think I know that, but I could hear my dad in my head and then it just came out!"

"Is that how you think of her? Do you think she's the slut that would do two guys at once on a dirty locker room floor? Or the whore that would climb into the back of a guy's pick up truck and go down on him after a two minute conversation? Or what about the rumor where she and Mr. Amore-"

"Shut up!" Elliot hisses, ready to put his fist through something. "Stop, that's not her! That was never her and fuck whoever thought it was. Fuck whoever called her those things and -"

"Then fuck yourself, Elliot because unless you apologise and sincerely mean it, that's you."

His lips part in protest but immediately close. Kathy's right. She's right. His hurt aside, what he'd said had been uncalled for and ignorant. It'd cut Olivia to the bone and he'd acted like his father - the man he never wanted to become.

He'd lashed out so quickly at Olivia, so mercilessly that it'd resulted in him having the opportunity to meet his daughter, to hold her. Instead of finding a way to introduce himself to Ella, Ella had been too busy trying to make her mother stop crying.

Too many instances in his childhood, he'd done the same with his own mother. He'll be damned if he'll let his daughter do the same.

The fight deflates. "I fucked up, Kathy...I fucked up…."

"If you can forgive her, I know she can forgive you…."


	9. Looking for Sunlight

**A/N:** So...updated in like two weeks time this time around because I'll be gone for a bit after this (hopefully not too long). I'm still doing that studying/applying to school's thing. Crap, I know, but that's life.

Shout out to Jackie for giving me an idea and as per usual, thank you to Lindsey for talking me through my crazy. Love you both.

Here are our messy crazy kids trying to sort through their drama.

Enjoy.

* * *

 _God he's fucking exhausted, almost too tired to move as he pushes his feet forward, propelled by stubbornness and hope. He's going to find her, he is. Today, well, tonight's the night. He can feel it in his slowly freezing toes._

 _A sharp turn sends him down a dimly lit alley and he finds himself on what his father affectionately calls skid row. Or whore central. Women of various races and ages hang about the alley, dressed in barely there clothing, bits of lace and (faux) leather that barely prevent them from indecent exposure. He can see their breath in white puffs, the red-hot tips of cigarettes that hang from their lips playing in stark contrast to the black of the night. He keeps going, ignoring their solicitations and crude offers for a 'good time.'_

 _That is, until he hears her, that voice he hasn't heard in almost a year._

" _Where you going tonight, daddy; need any company? Feel like doing...me?" he halts at the sound, spinning on his heels to see Olivia. She stands on unsteady knees; her ankles wobble as she approaches him. He looks her up and down, from head to toe, horrified._

 _Her skin's a sickly pale blue, her hair teased and feathered into two pigtails. Her normally barren face is caked with makeup; heavy dark purple eye shadow paired with fuchsia cheeks that shimmer in the nightlight. She stalks over to him, her too high heels clicking against the concrete as her mini skirt shifts upwards. His eyes follow from her hemline up to her neckline that almost dips down to her belly button, the sheer material of her blouse leaving nothing to the imagination. The thin jacket over her shoulders might as well not even be there._

" _Come on, daddy...what's wrong?" she purrs, her thin fingers reaching out to grab his jacket. "Let me be your Lolita…"_

" _Olivia?"_

" _Whoever you want me to be daddy, s'long as you've got the goods…"_

 _He flinches - hard - as she drips a hand from his jacket and grabs him through his jeans._

" _Olivia, stop...what's gotten into you?"_

" _You, if you got the cash...or the coke." she sniffles and their eyes meet. Her normally bright brown eyes are dull and unfocused, the whites of her eyes, red. She's strung out. Wasted. High._

 _She lunges at him, catching him off guard as her lips smash down against his and her fingers start to fumble for his belt buckle. She tastes like cigarettes and oddly enough gasoline; her kiss renders his tongue numb._

" _Olivia, stop...stop!" Elliot pushes her arms away from him and she stumbles backwards._

" _Come on, El. However you want to do me, wherever you want, anything you want. My mouth...other places, I don't care. Just fuck me."_

 _He flinches at the crudity of her words. Part of him knows this isn't Olivia talking, it's the drugs in her system; he has to get her out of here. Out of here and back to Ella._

 _Ella…._

 _The panic sets into his bones as he stalks over to her, grabbing her wrist, and yanking her towards him. "Where's Ella, where's our daughter? Where is she?"_

 _Olivia stumbles, tripping over her own feet as he yanks at her arm. "Rough, I like it. Call me Olivia, call me Ella, I don't care as long as you just shut up and fuck me...come on, let's talk business. We can do it right here…"_

 _What the hell is wrong with her? He grips her wrist tighter, stopping her roaming fingers from slipping into his pants. "Olivia, this isn't you, stop it. Stop. Tell me where Ella is. Where's our baby?"_

 _She pushes away from him, a snarl ripping from her lips. "Elliot, why won't you just fuck me? What, are you too good for me? Too good for the whore? Don't be a prude! Just fuck me damn-it." she hisses and shoves at his chest. "Take whatever you want from me like everyone else does - like the guys in the locker room. Like Cassidy. Just take it. God, stop being a bitch." she rubs hard at her nose. "You're such a buzz kill choir boy!"_

" _Liv, baby please, where is she?"_

" _She's gone. She's dead."_

 _He knows she's trying to get a rise out of him, she's purposefully baiting him, but her words are pointed knives through his heart. "Stop saying that."_

" _You could never protect her. You couldn't protect me; I had to protect myself, from Serena, from those guys in the lockers room. I did what my mother should've done to me; I got rid of her."_

 _No. No. No. You couldn't protect me. I got rid of her. No._

" _Olivia!" His voice waivers, cracks as tears threaten to spill from the words._

" _I needed a home to come home to, I never had it. I didn't have you and now you don't have my daughter. Goodbye, Elliot." With that, she slips through his fingers, and like smoke, she disappears into thin air._

 _Somewhere a little girl giggles and then he hears Olivia scream, she's begging - pleading. No, no, no, please don't. Please don't._

" _Olivia, Olivia!" Elliot cries, "Olivia!" He's shouting into nothingness._

" _Daddy! Daddy! Help me, Daddy, help! They're hurting mommy. Help!"_

 _Elliot's heart stops. It shatters in his chest at the melodic sound of his daughter's voice._

" _Ella? Ella! Where are you baby, where are you?"_

" _Help daddy! Help. Please! They're hurting her. They're hurting mommy!"_

" _I'm coming; I'm coming!"_

 _He's running in circles, his feet lead as he drags them along the pavement. The alley's pitch black now and it's just him, just him and the pleadings of his daughter and Olivia's cries. The further he runs, the darker his surroundings become, the voices fade and he falls to his knees. Someone kicks him in his side and he falls flat onto his back._

" _Look at you, boy. Pathetic. Chasing after a whore and a kid who's probably not yours…. Always so damn hard headed and look where it got you with that soft ass." Joe Stabler's harsh voice echoes, reverberating in the darkness. His boot connects with Elliot's side again and..._

Elliot shoots up out of bed so quickly he almost throws himself onto his bedroom floor. He's covered in sweat, chest heaving.

"Ella, Olivia, I'm coming. Daddy's coming…."

But they're not there. He's alone in his apartment, bed sheets tangled around his ankles, and dis heart threatening to jump through his throat.

Slowly but surely the off white walls of his bedroom come into focus.

It was just a dream. A horrible fucking dream. He can still hear Ella crying out for him, he can still hear Olivia's 'no's'. It'd been an all too real, all too tangible nightmare.

He gets to his feet and shuffles the few steps out of his room and to his kitchen/living room. He heads over to his refrigerator and pulls a cold bottle of water, wishing for something stronger. The water's refreshing as it slips down his scratchy, dry throat, though he wishes it were a Guinness. He needs something stronger to shake the pervasive images that glare back at him from behind closed eyelids.

 _If you've got the cash or the coke…however you want to do me, wherever you want, anything you want. My mouth...other places, I don't care. Just fuck me. Too good for the whore? You could never protect her, like you couldn't protect me. I got rid of her like my mom should've gotten rid of me._

 _Daddy, help! They're hurting mommy!_

 _Always so damn hard headed, look where it got you with that soft ass!_

Sighing, he sets the bottle down on the countertop, his eyes catching the digital clock resting next to the lamp on the floor; he really needs to find furniture. It's 3:06am. The sky outside is still pitch black and he's got another three hours before he has to get up for work, though he knows trying to get back to sleep will be all but impossible. He'd left Kathy's house at around 11:30pm and from there had walked around a rather destitute Brooklyn until the pain in his hands had outweighed the need to drive to clear his thoughts.

All he could think of too, and all he can still think of, is how royally fucked up everything seemed to be at the moment. How his heart had gone from elation and relief seeing that familiar bob of dark brown almost black hair paired with those coffee fleck eyes and hair shaped lips, to anger and malice at her omission of the truth for so long. Now regret and remorse mingles in with the other two emotions and he sighs heavily, his head lolling back against the wood of his cabinets.

Tomorrow, he thinks, tomorrow he's going to take Kathy's advice and apologize and finally have it out with Olivia - this time without resorting to remarks just shy of playground taunts.

Somehow he has to force himself back to sleep and then to work first.

/

It's taken him two hours to get into Jersey today. Traffic had been hell, which had served to only further exacerbate his already delicate nerves.

He pulls into the parking spot across the street in front of Olivia's house and cuts the engine.

Suddenly he doesn't know what he's doing; why he's here. After yesterday, he knows for certain that his face is the last thing Olivia wants to see right now. She's probably angry with him still. And her anger is deserved; his talk with Kathy the night prior had showed him the error and ignorance of his ways. It'd been one thing for Elliot to be mad, but an entirely other for the way his anger had exploded. Either way, he's here now to apologize and to rectify, have it all out and find some common ground.

Finally he forces himself out of his car, the dark makes a hollow pop sound as it slams on it latches. His eyes catch the dent his fists had made he sighs.

The dent is glaring, dipping in the shape of his fist, like a puncture wound, and flaring out at the sides. He doesn't know how he's going to explain that to his mother, but right now that's the least of his concerns. He has other things to worry about. Gently his fingers run across the wound and he inspects the damage done, both on the car and his knuckles. He really needs to find a new outlet for his anger.

Sighing, he crosses the dead in street, the sun still bright in the sky for a warmish April evening. He covers his eyes with his hand and then climbs the steps of the cement porch, his legs stiff beneath him.

He's poised to knock when the front door swings opened. It's the old balding man from yesterday, the one Olivia had called Don.

"Hi, is…is Olivia here?"

Don says nothing, instead, he gives Elliot a once over, the older man's brown eyes roaming from Elliot's trainers up to the simple white T-shirt he wears.

"I can come back if she's not…I just really need to talk to her."

Don remains silent still as he steps aside and ushers Elliot in.

/

Well, if this isn't awkward, Elliot doesn't know what is.

He shuffles on his feet, discomfort clearly etched into his features as he stands underneath Don's hard gaze. He has no idea what to say to this man, this stranger who seems to know more about his daughter and not girlfriend, girlfriend than he does. A fact Elliot finds himself perturbed by.

He flexes his fingers and itches the little razor stubble that sits on his chin. His knuckles are still bruised - stiff if he doesn't circulate the blood through them every now and then. Bone against steel hadn't been his brightest idea.

"You should've put some ice on that." Don chides flatly. "Brick wall or something metal?"

"What?"

"Did you hit a brick wall or something metal after you left here yesterday?"

Elliot grimaces, ducking his head low. "I uh…"

"Takes a lot of anger to put a dent in a car. Lot of anger directed at one person…." the older man cocks an eyebrow pointedly.

Of course that's where this conversation is going. All roads lead back to Olivia after all. "Look, Don -"

"Call me Cragen."

"Cragen, about Liv, I -"

"I know you're Ella's father, and you know I'm not Olivia's, but I'm not going to let some Brooklyn punk parade his way into my home and make the little girl I've come to love and respect like my own daughter, the mother of the little girl I consider my granddaughter, cry," Don snaps, his voice is hard, authoritative and brash, leaving no room for questions.

Elliot's heard this tone before, from his own father; Don's a cop. Now he knows how Olivia found out about his father. Regardless, cop or not, the perturbation Elliot feels at this stranger is all too tangible. He wants to stand up, to tell the old man that he doesn't know shit about Olivia, or her life so who is he to try to put Elliot in his place, but he doesn't. The sensible portion of him, the part of his brain that could hear Kathy's voice in his head telling him to not be a hot head, to not cause a fight where there isn't one, wins out. He takes a deep breath and nods his head, coming to the conclusion that, if anything, he should thank the man (and his wife) standing in front of him. They've done what he didn't have the opportunity to do for the last four years: take care of his daughter.

"I didn't mean to make her cry. I've never wanted to hurt her, but I did and that's why I'm here. To apologize and to see _my_ daughter because she _is_ my daughter," the words feel foreign on Elliot's tongue. Images from his nightmare flash across his mind and he has to stop from visibly shuddering.

 _Daddy, help! They're hurting mommy._

"I've been kept away from her for too long, so with all due respect, I know this is your house, and I know what you're done for Liv, but...I'm not going anywhere until I talk to her."

"You're not going to disrespect her in my house. She's been through enough." Don states flatly, his hazel eyes locking on Elliot's. "I won't let you hurt her."

"I don't plan on it, and I'm not going-"

They're both cut off but the sound of creaking floorboards beneath carpet. Olivia walks into the room dressed or in the process of dressing, for a night out. She's wearing a solid black scoop neck short sleeve top that cuts a little too low for Elliot's liking. Her long legs sheathed in sheer black tights stick out from beneath a short black skirt that cuts a couple of inches above her knees. Her dark hair hangs from her head in wet tendrils. In one hand she holds a small pink bag and in the other, a hairbrush.

 _You could never protect her. You never protected me._ He rubs his temples.

"Elliot, what are you doing here?" Olivia asks, but is interrupted by a string of giggles followed by the tap-tap of hard sole shoes against tile.

Ella bounds into the living room, an older woman, probably in her late forties or early fifties, hot on her heels. She wraps her little body around Olivia's legs and presses her chin into mother's knees.

"Gigi's tryna get me!" Ella laughs as the winded woman comes to a halt, joining the brigade in the living room.

"I almost got you, too!" The woman announces merrily. "But guess who needs to eat her dinner and then take her bath huh?"

A pang of jealousy rises in the pit of Elliot's stomach; it crawls across his skin and burns into his flesh as the scene unfolds before them. He can't take his eyes off the giddy little angel, Olivia's twin, _his daughter,_ as she hides behind her mother.

 _Ella._

God she's gorgeous, her bright blue eyes that play in stark contrast to her dark hair; her tiny fingers that hold tightly to her mother's knees.

He's so mesmerized watching her that he doesn't realize that she's talking to him.

Her voice is small, soft, but high pitched as she meekly asks from behind Olivia's leg, "who you?"

Elliot swallows once, twice; his heart leaps into his throat.

 _Who you? I'm your dad…_

"I'm…" He doesn't know how to fill in the blank or how much he should fill it in.

But Olivia saves him. She pats Ella's chocolate tresses, "Ella baby, this is mommy's very special friend, his name is Elliot. Can you say hi to Elliot for me?"

Ella nods against her mother's legs, her blue eyes shifting from Olivia to Elliot as she nods. "Hi Ewiot."

No sound has ever been sweeter, ever been more pleasing to his ears. A large grin crosses his face, stretching from ear to ear, and he can feel the tears build behind his eyes.

Meekly, Ella steps out from behind Olivia, her tiny feet carrying her towards her father. She holds out her hand to him and he takes it as an opportunity to study her. He notices her dimples and missing front tooth, the almond shape of her eyes that hold the brightest blue irises he's ever seen, and her button nose that scrunches up just like Olivia's as she studies him, too.

"Papa sakes hans," Ella tells him and Elliot's eyes drift up to Olivia's. He sees a couple of silent tears slip down her cheeks and she clears her throat.

"She wants you to shake her hand…" Olivia informs him. "Go on…"

So Elliot does. His oversized digits easily eclipse Ella's as he takes her hand. Her fingers are soft; her hand warm and he swears there's an electric current jolting up his arm at her touch.

 _She's real._ And she's half him, half Olivia.

Seconds later Ella's fingers slip from his and she scurries back to her spot behind Olivia's legs. A giggle slips from her lips. Next to Elliot, Don rises to his feet and claps his hands together.

"Alright, why don't we get dinner, Care Bear and then bath time?" Don tells Ella as he scoops her, giggling all the way, into his arms. "I think momma needs to talk to her special friend…"

"Yeah, let's go little miss, its bath time then bed time after that." The woman adds before turning to Olivia.

"Don't worry, Liv. We've got her. Go on...and Elliot, name's Marge, and it's nice to finally meet you."

With that, the threesome head towards the dining room, but not before Ella shouts a light, "Bye Ewiot!"

"Bye…"

The living room goes quiet for the most part, Elliot's eyes stay focused on the doorway his daughter's just disappeared through.

"So . . . what're you doing here, El?" Olivia asks, she sets the pink bag and hair brush down on the glass coffee table.

The sound of her voice draws his attention away from the dining room and he sighs heavily. He came here for a reason.

Clearing his throat, he speaks, "Can we talk, please?"

"Last talk we had ended before it started and I have to work in about an hour and a half, El…."

Elliot nods, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth and biting down. "Look, Liv, what I said about you-"

"If we're gonna do this, follow me because I refuse to lose my patience in front of my daughter…." Olivia takes off, heading towards the basement.

Wordlessly, Elliot follows behind her.

/

They basement is in various stages of chaos. There's coloring books, crayons, dolls, a soccer ball, Legos, and clothes strewn from one end of the open space to the other. The pink baby book Olivia had brought out to show him yesterday morning rests on the bar behind the couch. Elliot fights the urge to pick it up, to leaf through it and see the life he'd lost and now must find a place to fit into like an extra puzzle piece, in vivid color. He stops himself, though, rounding on his heels when he hears Olivia shuffling behind him.

"Liv, about what I said, I'm-"

"You don't get to say things to me like that." Olivia's voice is neutral, her gaze hard and unwavering, though Elliot can tell she's putting on a brave face. He can see it in the way she purses her lips, as if they may start to tremble at any given moment. The hurt he'd cause cut her deeply. "You get to be mad at me, but you don't get to treat me like that, like you did yesterday. …"

 _You treated her just like those guys when you called her that. Hell coming from you it was probably worse._

Kathy's words ring through his thoughts at Olivia's words.

 _She was crying. They ripped her shirt and laughed at her._

"Be mad, but please don't say those things about me…

 _I could hear her saying no, but what's a no when everyone already thinks you've said yes?_

"Be pissed but don't be a jackass."

" _They were going to hurt her, and we both know how…"_

" _Daddy, help! They're hurting mommy. Help. Please!"_

The nightmare, Kathy's words, four years of fear and worry all blur together, tearing at his heart until he can't help himself. He grabs her by her thin wrists and pulls her into his arms, just holding her against his chest. Much to his relief, she doesn't immediately pull away.

 _Olivia is okay. She's in your arms. She's okay._

The words bubble in his gut, crawl up his throat and fall from his lips before he has a chance to assess them. He hadn't planned on saying anything about what Kathy had told him, nothing at all, but he needs to know now. He has to know why she couldn't trust him. "Why didn't you tell me about the locker room, Liv?"

Against him Olivia stiffens. He can feel her stomach drop, and she pulls away. Her face goes pale and she looks visibly taken aback – shocked.

"What…"

"About the dumb jocks that tried to…"

"I know – how did – who-" she stops, taking a step back, and then nods, realization dawning in her irises. "Your girlfriend. She told you; she shouldn't have, it wasn't her place. Besides, it was four years ago. It doesn't matter anymore."

But it does. Especially in the way Kathy had explained it to him and especially if it's why she didn't trust him enough – trust _in_ him enough to tell her about Ella.

Elliot sighs, "She's not my girlfriend – not any more at least – and it's not like we popped a couple of beers and sat back and had a laugh over it. She told me on accident and because I was pissed at you and I –"

"Went and told your girlfriend how much of a slut I still am and that my daughter couldn't possibly be yours so she decided to skip you down memory lane, huh? Give you proof? Reminisce about Olivia Benson, class whore, even willing to do two at once, right?"

Her words are like blunt blows to the gut. The hurt drips from them.

God, no matter what how much he tries to fix this thing between them, he just seems to keep making it worse.

"What? No! Liv-"

"Because I wasn't! And you used to believe me. Or at least I thought you did, but I guess you listened to the rumors like everyone else."

"I didn't!" Elliot growls more defensiveness to his tone than intended. "Look," he reaches for one of her hands, but she recoils. Her expression is stone, but he can see how the whites of her eyes bleed into red, as if she might cry at any given moment. "I know that wasn't you, I know. And I know what I said the other night was wrong, it was out of anger and I'm sorry. I didn't know about…"

"She's yours. I didn't – I wasn't sleeping with anyone else. Not Cassidy, not those idiots from the locker room. No one. I never did. You and Michael. That's it."

A few stray tears finally slip down her cheeks, but she doesn't wipe them away. If anything, her chin stiffens, and she straightens up.

"And even if I had, it wouldn't be any of your business. Just like it wasn't anyone else's."

 _She's yours._ He hadn't thought different. In his heart, he knew. From the first moment she'd bounced into the basement yesterday afternoon with her dark hair and bright eyes, he knew. What he doesn't know is why Olivia didn't trust him enough to tell him. What he doesn't know is why she didn't believe in him enough to let him take care of her and their daughter.

"I know she is, Liv. She's my daughter. I know. It's just gonna take me a minute to get used to it. What I said, I didn't mean..." _it,_ the last word splits apart on his tongue; he can't finish his sentence because in a way, he had. The words he used had been purposeful and their intent clear. "I'm sorry, I am. I didn't know it'd hurt you like that."

"She _is_ yours. She _is_ and I should've told you sooner, I should've told you when I found out, but I was scared and alone. I'd already been gone for a few months. I figured you wouldn't want to hear from me and I didn't want to just show up with a baby. And then there would've been my mom...I don't know what she would've done, but I know she wouldn't have been happy… I just thought that it'd be better for everyone if I just stayed away."

"It wasn't better for me. You broke my heart, Olivia."

"I wasn't trying to – I didn't mean to. I just didn't want to ruin your life by slapping you with this kid and all of this responsibility you-"

He's never wanted to grab her and shake her harder in his entire life than in this moment. Is she being serious? For four years he's walked around with a hole in his chest - his broken heart ruined his life.

"Bullshit," Elliot hisses, "you ruined it when you left. Do you not get that I was in love with you? I wanted to take care of you and I would've taken care of her. You didn't have to do it alone!"

"You were _sixteen!_ "

"So were you!" he could strangle her right now. "You know, I thought you were dead. A couple of months after you left they fished a body out of the Hudson, they called your mom to identify her – you."

Olivia's mouth drops open in horror.

"She didn't even tell me it wasn't you, I had to hear it from a bunch of loud mouths at school…" Try as he might, Elliot's voice cracks as he finishes his sentence. If he closes his eyes, he can almost remember that day and feel the fear that griped him tight.

It'd culminated in Elliot going down to Joe's precinct in search of information. Surprisingly enough Joe had jumped to help without any argument. Elliot didn't know then, but he knows now, why.

Guilt.

 _It's not her, Elliot. The 2-7 Coroner said Serena came in and confirmed._

He doesn't see her move, but when she lands in his arms again, his body responds automatically. His arms wrap around her waist while hers wrap around his neck. He pulls her close, and breathes her in. Having her warm – _alive –_ body beneath his fingers serves to block out the memories and any lingering effects from his nightmare.

"I didn't know. I'm so sorry, I didn't know…." It's Olivia's turn to apologize.

"I looked for you for a while," his voice is soft, low. "I didn't want to give up, but I had to let go. Now you're back and things are just kinda all jumbled up in my head."

At his words, Olivia's arms tighten. "I'm sorry, Elliot. I am. I know it's all a mess right now and I screwed everything up, but I'm here and I want to make it right. Not for me, but for you and for Ella. Please let me."

 _Please let me. For Ella._

He squeezes her tight once more, almost unwilling to let go, and then pulls back. His hands sit on her hips, keeping an arm's length of space between them. "I'd do anything for that little girl. She's only said four words to me and I love her."

"She's got that effect on people…" Olivia smiles, her nose scrunching in soft laughter as her hands drop from around his neck. "I know I just kind of dropped her into your lap, but I want you two to get to know each other now. She needs you, El."

"You two seem to be doing just fine without me…"

"Yeah, with Marge and Don's help. I don't know how I could ever repay them for everything they've done for us. They stopped me from giving up completely; they were there when no…" the words die in midair.

A pang of jealousy shoots through Elliot's side and he nods, he knows what she means. The old couple upstairs, the one's currently feeding and bathing his child were there for her mother when he couldn't be.

"I would've been there, I would've…" there's conviction in his tone, fire and honesty.

"I wish sixteen year old me would've known that, El. I do, but what's happened, happened. Can we go forward?"

Forward, that's exactly what he's got in mind. "As a family?" he amends her statement, his thumbs brushing against the spandex material of her skirt.

"Yeah. A family."

"Good, Liv, because I didn't…I wasn't going to ask this way, but –"

A panicked wail followed by a shrilling screech pierces the air, halting Elliot.

"OLIVIA, OLIVIA!"

It's Marge.

Alarmed, Olivia breaks away from him, and Elliot follows behind. They climb the stairs in two and follow the shouts into the living room. They find Ella, loudly wheezing, her lips a pale blue, pulling at her cheeks.

In front of her stands a terrified Marge. "She's isn't breathing."


	10. Keep Close, Stand Tall

**A/N:** It's been a while. Sorry. Everything i've written lately feels woefully inadequate and I don't like publishing something I'm not satisfied with.

Matter of fact, y'all should thank Stabson for this chapter; she pretty much helped me write it all.

Hope you enjoy.

* * *

 _She's not breathing_.

He hates everything about hospital, the smell, the lights, and even the constant humdrum of activity, but most of all he hates the anxiety they induce within him. His heart is pounding in his throat and he can't stop the tremors that tear through his hands. Minutes pass and they seem like hours. People cough, children moan, someone asks for a doctor. The longer he stands in the corner of this fucking waiting room, the darker his thoughts become. Just two weeks ago he'd sat in another hospital, holding his mother's hand and waiting for the inevitable news of his father's death. And now…

He can't get the picture out of his head; her tiny body wheezing, her small hands yanking on her cheeks, and those bright blue eyes that match his, filling to the brim with fear. He froze, his feet unable to move; he'd been completely useless as the three adults around him panicked, called 9-1-1 and consoled the three year old.

In retrospect, he'd done the best thing he could've. He'd stayed out the way and let those who knew how to handle the situation, handle it. It's not like he could've think enough to do much of anything else.

She's not breathing.

 _Hi Ewiot._

His eyes clench shut and his head falls back against the wall behind him. His stomach turns and his eyes sting. What-ifs make their way into his head. What if this is the last and only time he'll ever get to see his baby? He's already missed three-bordering-on-four years of her life. What if he misses out on the rest of it because she dies, just weeks after the grandfather she'd never known, too? What if –

He wants to puke. To put his fist through the wall. Crumble and cry. Beg God from his knees for everything to be okay because if they – if he – looses her now…

They've exchanged maybe eight words, she's been a part of his life for forty-eight hours, but he's already undeniably and absolutely in love with her.

But she's not breathing. She's not breathing.

He gets to his feet and starts pacing. He steps over the woman holding a bloody dish towel to her nose, he almost runs into the guy clutching his arm. It takes twenty steps to walk the entire perimeter of the waiting room. The air is stale, old, and suffocating. Each minute passes like century and those four years in between the night in his bedroom and finding Olivia again seems like a lifetime ago. As if they'd passed in the blink of an eye.

He's going to crawl out of his skin in a moment.

"Elliot, Elliot." The voice comes at him through a muffled haze of sound. Somehow it manages to sneak past his growing fears and into his ears, its Cragen. The old man taps him on his shoulder and gestures to a petite nurse with deep brown skin and long black hair standing in front of him. When did she get here?

"Mr. Stabler?" The woman asks in a sickly sweet and soft voice, the same voice the nurse had used weeks ago to let his mother know his father wouldn't be coming home.

Elliot's heart tightens in his chest; he prepares for the worst.

"Uh, yeah, that's me."

"An Olivia Benson sent me to get you so you both could speak to the doctor regarding your daughter."

Immediately he gets to his feet, nervous energy radiating up his spine. His mouth goes dry and his fingers twitch. The nurse motions for him to follow her, and he does, his feet like lead.

/

She's the first thing he sees as he rounds the corner, and she looks like hell. Her normally rosy cheeks are pale, sunken. There's bags beneath her eyes are a purplish color and her work uniform is rumpled. She looks tired, exhausted. Aged well beyond her twenty years of life. Tear tracks line her cheeks and a ghost of a smile flits across her face when she sees him.

"The doctor stepped out to take a call or something." Olivia tells him as he steps foot into the room. "He's supposed to be right back."

Elliot nods; his sneakers squeak across the linoleum floor the further into the room he moves. His eyes flit from Olivia, to the bed she rests on, where Ella's small body is curled against the thin white mattress. An IV sticks out of her tiny arm, and an oxygen tube is pressed into each side of her nostrils. She sleeps soundly, her natural olive skin, the same color of her mother's, pale. The sight alone causes Elliot's heart to break. He wants nothing more but to take his daughter in his arms and hold her, feel the rhythm of her heartbeat, brush the fly away strands of dark hair from her cherub cheeks, and declare his unwavering devotion and love.

"Did they say what happened?"

Olivia sighs, shakes her head. "Said it's something to do with her asthma."

"My mom has asthma." Elliot comments; his head dips.

"I know. I remember." She reaches up to brush back a limp curl that falls across Ella's face. "I'm sorry you had to meet her like this, I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I'm sorry – I'm just sorry."

Not as much as he is. He can guarantee that. This is all on him. Whatever he did or didn't do for her four years ago led them to this moment. She couldn't count on him and now his daughter is paying the price.

"Liv, you have nothing—"

A knock interrupts Elliot's sentence and he turns to see a gray haired man with soft eyes that gaze out over a set of bifocals, and small features, standing no more than 5'8, in the doorway. He's dressed in khakis and a button up and wears a white coat. The tag on attached to his coat says doctor on it in bold red letters and a clip board hangs from one hand..

"Sorry, had to take a consult call. Everyone here now?"

Olivia nods and from the corner of his eye, Elliot can see a stray tear slip down her cheek.

"And you must be papa?"

Elliot nods.

The old man extends his hand."Call me Dr. Prasad."

They shake hands and then the doctor filters into the room, his wingtips glide smoothly across the floor.

"Okay," he grabs the clipboard and looks it over. "little Ella here is gonna be staying overnight for observation, but she is stable. She's on oxygen and a low dose IV corticosteroid; we gave her a nebulizer treatment and an epinephrine injection."

Elliot exchanges looks with Olivia, confusion clouding his irises. The doctor speak goes over his head and his brows crinkle together in the middle of his face.

Dr. Prasad must pick up on the confusion because he clears his throat, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Young parents…" he comments, tapping the clipboard with a pen. "Basically, in layman's terms, we gave her an inhaler, a steroid to regulate her breathing, and an allergy shot. Her asthma attack was triggered by an allergic reaction to something, hence the redness, hives, and intense swelling she had when you got here. Do you remember what she last ate? Perhaps she was near an animal she hasn't been exposed to yet?"

Slowly the doctor's words filter through to Elliot's ears. He nods in understanding, and almost hangs his head in shame because he isn't certain how to answer the doctor's questions. He doesn't know if Ella's allergic to anything; he doesn't know anything about her.

"Uhm…" Olivia starts; her voice falters. She's cryin. Again. "She wasn't around any animals today, and I didn't feed her anything different from what she normally eats. She had chicken nuggets with mac n cheese, and peas for dinner. I think her Gigi gave her some strawberries for dessert…"

"Strawberries?" Dr. Prasad repeats, peering at Olivia through his bifocals.

"Yeah, uhm, I think I wasn't watching her eat them, I was busy, but I know they'd been set out for dessert with pound cake and whip cream."

"How old is she?"

"She'll be four next January…."

"Has she ever been tested for an allergy to strawberries?"

Olivia shakes her head no and Elliot shrugs his shoulders. Once again, he feels useless. This is his daughter, his baby, but he knows nothing about her. He doesn't know what makes her happy, what makes her sad. He doesn't know if she cries at night when she's tired or if she sleeps with a stuffed animal. All he can do is stand and listen to the exchange.

"Then I'd like permission to draw blood to check the antibodies in her blood. Normally I'd do a skin irritation test, but it's too risky with her asthma; we wouldn't want to trigger another attack."

No, they wouldn't. Elliot doesn't know if he could survive watching his baby turn blue again.

Meekly, Olivia nods and Elliot follows suite. She wipes at her eyes, though silent tears trek down her cheeks. Elliot takes that as his sign to do something, so he does. He crosses the room in haste and comes to a halt behind Olivia, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders. He gives them a gentle squeeze and kisses the top of her head. His eyes flit across Ella's sleeping form and he notices the serene expression on her face. He wonders what she's dreaming about.

"If you two don't have any more questions, I'm gonna head out."

Both Olivia and Elliot shake their heads no and, with another soft smile, disappears. Silence, save for the sound of the IV pump and Olivia's sniffles, fills the air.

After a few more moments of quiet, Olivia speaks; her voice quivers, "I wanted to be better than Serena."

Both Olivia and Elliot shake their heads no and, with another soft smile, disappears. The IV pumps. Olivia sniffles. He tries to think of something- anything to tell her, to stop the tears that build in her eyes and those heartbreaking sniffles that come from her that makes him think she'll break down and cry any second. No. This is Olivia, she doesn't…

"I wanted to be better than her." Her voice quivers as she whispers the words.

Elliot tilts his head, tries to search her eyes to figure out what she means, but her gaze won't meet his. "What?"

"I wanted to be a better mom," Olivia says a little louder. "Than Serena. I-I tried to be, but… I failed." She pulls away from his touch and gets to her feet, crossing what little space there is between Ella's bed and the window that gazes out onto the New Jersey streets. Elliot looks past her for just a moment, into the dark, starless sky. Earlier, the traffic and been busy and noisy, but now it's transformed into a low murmur.

"I tried to be better than her." Her voice has dropped again, to nothing more than the whisper of a passing car. "Please… know that I did, but… I failed"

What? No… she can't really believe that, can she? Olivia is nothing like Serena. Serena had been unnecessarily cruel, purposefully cold and reserved towards her child. Elliot knows how much Olivia loves her daughter- it's been clear since the moment he saw the two of them for the first time in the basement of the Cragens'. His daughter has been loved, cherished, and she's had a mother that's been absolutely devoted to her, he knows. He knows; there's no doubt in his mind.

"Don't say that. You're a good mom- you're a _great_ mom."

Her brown eyes sparkles with unshed tears as she finally turns back towards him. "I'm not. I let her eat something that she's allergic too. No, I didn't even know she was eating them because I wasn't even paying attention to her." Her shoulders bob as she tries and fails to hold back a sniffle. "Like… like my mom didn't pay attention to me."

"Liv, don't." He wants to stand, to cross the distance between them and pull her to his chest. He wants to hold her and tell her over and over that she's wrong, however many times it takes to make her believe. His heart is ripping in his chest at the thought that she even thinks that, that the thought would even cross her mind. But he stays exactly where he is, frozen, unable to break out of his stance as he stares at her. "Don't do this to yourself," he pleads, his voice nearly cracking as he stumbles over the words. "Don't try to-

"I left her." The words tear from her chest before he has a chance to finish his thought. "When she was first born, I-I… couldn't take care of her, I couldn't do anything right." It's her turn to stumble over her words, sobs building in her voice and nearly breaking free before she gets them back under control. "She was crying all the time. I couldn't sleep; she couldn't sleep. Her bottles were too cool, her diapers were too loose, and her onesies were too tight. I… I… just got… overwhelmed."

 _I left her._

What? His eyebrows furrow as he goes over those three words over and over in his mind, and he's sure that he misunderstood. No, she can't mean what he thinks she means. That's not possible, that's not… "What do you mean, you left her?"

Olivia takes a deep breath and wipes at her eyes. "I knew Marge wanted kids, but had to have an emergency hysterectomy years ago. So I figured she would take care of Ella and I left. I…" Buckets of tears slip down her cheeks and she wipes her eyes again. "I took off. I couldn't do it anymore, I walked away from her." It's like she realizing her words for the first time. There's a cloud of guilt settling over her eyes and more tears fill them to the brim, and in that moment, he's afraid that she'll fall because her legs just don't look like they're going to hold her up anymore. Her eyes clench shut for a moment as she swipes her tongue over her bottom lip.

"She's my daughter and I needed to be there for her, but I walked away. I… left her to virtual strangers and it took weeks for me to come back."

The room spins. He reaches out for something to hang onto as her words set in, but grasps at nothing but air; he feels like he's going to pass out.

She left Ella. She left, she left, she… He feels like he's gonna puke. She ran away _again_ and this time so much more than just his feelings had been at stake. Their daughter… their daughter almost didn't even know her mother.

"What kind of mom leaves her daughter with strangers? The same kind that doesn't realize when her daughter is allergic to something or that her asthma is getting worse."

Each of her words feels like a blow to his stomach. He tries to take a breath, but there's no air in his lungs; his chest hurts like he's just sprinted a mile.

"I'm a bad mom."

 _I left her._

The world won't stop spinning around him.

 _I'm a bad mom._

The walls are closing in.

 _I left her._

He's gotta get out. There's no more air in the room, his stomach is flipping, he feels like throwing up and punching something and screaming all at the same time and it's just too much. His daughter almost died, and now he knows that Olivia almost left her.

 _Olivia almost left her._

Before he's even realized that he's on his feet, he's backpedaling, feet shuffling against linoleum as the dizziness threatens to knock him to the ground.

Olivia's eyes are on him as he stumbles towards the door. The last look he sees on her face is enough to break his heart all over again.

/

As soon as Elliot gets back out into the cool evening air, he falls against the wall of the building and yanks at the collar of his shirt, struggling to get air through his lungs. By the time he's breathing normally again, he feels like days have passed. He scrubs both hands over his face roughly, playing the past few minutes over in his mind.

He can't believe what she said. He can't believe that she would leave their child, she can't believe that… there's no way his Olivia would do that no way-

She left him. She left him without a word for four years.

But this wasn't all her fault, damn it. He hadn't been there when she needed him the most. If only he'd been there. If only she could've relied on him. If…

If, if, if.

He tears himself from the wall and resists the urge to lay both fists into it. Fuck the what-ifs. Fuck himself for not looking harder and longer. This is his fault- all of his fault. She's suffered so much because of him. She'd been through hell and back, alone. She'd been left to raise their daughter, alone. All while he'd sat on his couch in Brooklyn, moping and bitching, wrongfully searching areas he'd known in his heart she'd long vacated. God, he should've looked harder, longer; should've cast a wider net, checked Jersey. He should've done more.

Elliot slumps forward, the brick wall rough against his light t-shirt. The April air is lukewarm and he thanks god for small favors. His eyes fall on the sparse hospital traffic and he fights the urge to cry. Olivia had been worried about failing their child when he had failed them both.

A spark and flash of a flame followed by the sound of shuffling feet catches his attention. Elliot turns to see Cragen, cigarette hanging from his lips, walking towards him.

The old man takes a long drag on his cigarette, white smoke billows from his mouth. "You smoke?"

Elliot shakes his head no, not really in the mood for comfort or company.

"Good, don't start. And if Marge asks, I'm not smoking either." He puffs again on the stick and Elliot watches the tip turn red and the ashes crawl down the tube.

A few more cars pass. In the distance, sirens sound. Moments tick by. Both men stay silent for a few seconds more.

Don's the first to break the silence; he props himself up on the wall next to Elliot.

"When Olivia first came to us," he starts, "she was worse for wear. Gaunt, defensive, scared. Tired all the time. I knew she was a runaway from the start, by the looks of her, probably abused, but I didn't want to take her in. Marge is the one with a heart of gold, not me. I've been a cop for twenty years; I know the risks. She could've ripped us off, killed us in our sleep, any number of things."

His words are another knife in Elliot's heart.

"Marge insisted though; said she felt right about it. She told me Olivia was pregnant and needed our help. I was still on the fence, argued against it. Then one night, Marge and I were arguing over her, over taking her in and Olivia overheard. She took off like a bat out of hell after that and for some reason I chased her.

And boy did she have a mouth on her when I finally caught up to her. She told me to get bent and that she didn't need any one's help; her and her baby were gonna be just fine. I wouldn't say it to her, you know Liv; she hates being vulnerable, but there was something in those dark eyes. So I took a chance. I swallowed my pride and my hesitancy and then welcomed her home.

For the longest time, she wouldn't take anything from us. Not Money, or even a car ride. Getting her to eat a meal on us was like pulling teeth. She kept trying to give us all the pennies she rolled in from that hole in the wall diner Sister Peg set her up in."

Elliot smiles ruefully, the images Don paints vivid in his head. That was his Olivia, proud and stubborn as ever, even when she didn't have to be. She's been this way as long as Elliot can remember.

"She didn't have an easy pregnancy," Don continues, "sick a lot, always crying, constantly throwing up. Turns out she had some kind of pregnancy diabetes. Doctor said something about high blood pressure too, and then the nightmares came. She kept screaming the house awake; it was usually always the same dream too. Every night. Something about a Serena and then your name."

"My name?" Elliot turns towards the old man. "What'd she say about me?"

Cragen cracks a crooked smile and butts what's left of the cigarette on the bottom of his shoe. "Just your name. Sometimes followed by I missed you. I figured you were either the proud papa or some ass I'd have to kick once I got my hands on you. That's the part still out for debate." He chuckles.

Elliot finds no humor in Don's words, though. A knock upside his head is the least he feels he deserves right now. Hearing about what Olivia endured and knowing he could've done more…if the old man next to him decides to swing, it'd be a relief. "Go ahead, I deserve it."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I gave up on her," Elliot mumbles. "I stopped looking when she needed me the most. I was supposed to protect her. I was supposed to take care of her. Of them both." His voice cracks. He can feel the tears in his throat, a knot in his stomach, and he closes his eyes.

A swirl of emotion filled memories dance across his eyelids. He thinks of them as kids, with scraped knees and running noses, riding into battle for one another. He thinks of them as preteens clumsily slamming cars into mailboxes. He thinks of watching her run out of school and into the waiting arms of her then twenty-one year old boyfriend Michael only to come back the same night in tears. Most of all, though, he thinks of the first and only night they'd ever spent together. In hindsight, he should've known she was going to do something drastic. That day had felt more like the end than the beginning. Every little adventure had been one step closer to the finale. It'd been in her eyes and the eagerness in her touch. She'd been saying goodbye the entire time. And he'd let her.

She hadn't trusted him enough to stay.

 _I'm not coming back._

"Listen to me son," Don's voice pulls Elliot out of memory lane. "We both know Olivia didn't want to be found. This isn't on you; hell it's not on her. What happened, happened. Can't go back, we can only go forward. You can only go forward."

Elliot wants to scream, to shout; he knows. _I know._ If he could go back, he'd changed it all. He'd change everything. He'd tell her not to go out with Michael. He'd tell her sooner he loved her. He'd take her mother's fists and his father's hatred.

"You weren't there then, but you are now. And Olivia needs you – we both know she won't say it, but she does. More importantly, though, Ella needs you. Be the man she needs now, be the father she needs. I know you just got a lot tossed on your plate; I knew your dad. I know he just passed, and it's not gonna be easy from here...but you can do it. Olivia believes you can; she trusts you, so I do too."

Silent tears slip down Elliot's cheeks. His bottom lip quivers and he sucks in a deep breath. Joe's voice pops into his head. _Stop crying. You're not a little girl._

Don's hand claps down on his shoulder in a comforting gesture. "Go ahead and cry son. You're going through a lot here. Your father. Olivia. Ella. Just take a deep breath. Everything is gonna be okay."

/

A stuffed mouse dressed in overalls with a cookie attached to one paw and a book attached to the other dangles from Elliot's fingertips as he makes his way back to Ella's room. His eyes are dry and his head is somewhat clear. The anger he has at himself and at the situation has tempered somewhat. It's edging on half past midnight and the hospital's settled to a low hum of activity. A nurse in a blush pink uniform stands over a still sleeping Ella and Olivia sits in a chair next to the bed watching. The warm glow of the overhead lamp illuminates Olivia's face and Elliot can see she's stopped crying.

He clears his throat as he walks into the room. "Don and Marge went home, said they'd be back first thing in the morning. I-uh-I got this for when she wakes up." Elliot offers, motioning to the stuffed animal.

"You must be daddy," the nurse interrupts, a small smile on her face. "Baby is doing well. Her vitals are good and the swelling almost gone completely. She should be at 100% tomorrow, ready to drive mom and dad crazy."

Elliot chuckles solemnly. _Dad. Daddy._ He's still getting used to his new monikers.

"We have a rollaway cot somewhere around here, it's not that big, but it'll be better than both of you trying to fit in that chair. I can have a CNA round it up for you?"

"Thanks." Elliot nods and the nurse smiles before disappearing.

As the sound of the nurses footsteps disappear, Elliot walks further into the room. Olivia gets to her feet and walks over to Ella's bed and then perches herself on the corner of the bed.

Ella sleeps soundly; her lips still a bit swollen, but other than that almost back to normal. Her thumb rests between her lips and she looks at peace. Elliot crosses the room and sets the stuffed animal down next to the spot on the pillow above her head.

"She's gonna like that. . ." Olivia mumbles softly, a slight waver to her voice.

"I didn't know what else to get. All the Care Bears were gone." He tells her; referring to the nickname he'd heard Don and Marge call his daughter earlier that day and the t-shirt she'd been wearing. He sits down next to Olivia and reaches for one of her hands. He intertwines their fingers and holds onto her hand tightly. Don's words filter into his thoughts. _Olivia needs you. Everything is gonna be okay._

"If you're mad at me about what I just told you, please don't take it out on me now." Olivia whispers. Her hand is limp in Elliot's and he knows she's tired, exhausted.

"If I'm mad at anyone, Liv, I'm mad at myself."

"Don't be. None of this is your fault. Its-"

He doesn't give her the opportunity to finish her sentence. He wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her close. Olivia collapses into his hold and her shoulders slump forward. She's sobbing softly.

"I just want her to be okay. I just want my baby to be okay."

Inside his chest, Elliot's heart shatters. She sounds so small, so scared and vulnerable in that moment. He's reminded of that night, four years ago when she'd cemented her place in his heart and subsequently punched a hole through his chest. He'd held her then, too. He'd told her everything would be all right and how wrong he'd been. He'd…

But that had been then and this is now. Don was right; they could only go forward. Going back isn't an option.

"She's gonna be okay, 'Livia. She's a fighter, like her mommy."


	11. Timing's Never Right

**A/N:** In comparison to my other chapters, this chapter is quite short. I can't apologize because this is where I felt this needed to end and I also wanted some Valentine Day cuteness. Don't worry, the next chapter will of course be longer.

I hope you enjoy! Happy Valentines day.

* * *

"Mommy…"

Elliot turns his head at the sound of the voice to find Ella, bleary eyed and frizzy haired, sitting up in bed. Her tiny hands rub at her eyes and her bottom lip trembles, she looks as exhausted as he feels. He's slept maybe four hours. Olivia's tossing turning next to him on the cot barely big enough for two bodies, along with his constantly roving mind made it almost impossible for him to get any good shut-eye.

"Momma." Ella cries again.

He looks down to see Olivia, snoring softly against his side. Deep in sleep, she doesn't stir at the sound of her daughter's voice. Elliot can't blame her either. She'd sat by Ella's bedside for hours, checking and rechecking the sleeping toddler every thirty or so minutes.

"Mommy." Ella's voice cracks, and while Elliot's experience with children is limited to Kathy's nieces and nephews, he knows she's getting ready to cry.

Somehow, he manages to extricate himself from Olivia's hold and he gets to his feet. His bones crack and his back aches. Damn cot.

"Hi, Ella, 'member me?" He whispers as he walks towards his daughter.

The little girl's eyes brim with tears. She doesn't speak.

"Elliot, momma's friend…" after being referred to as dad and daddy for the last two days, he feels silly introducing himself as Elliot to his daughter.

Ella wipes at her eyes and nods. "Momma...I want momma."

He glances over at Olivia, sleeping soundly. Her hair is messy, and she's curled on her side, still in her work clothes. The thin hospital blanket is tangled around her legs. She looks so peaceful and serene. He can't bear to wake her.

"Momma's right there," he points to Olivia, "but she's asleep. Wanna let momma sleep?" He asks, softly. Ella's eyes follow her father's gaze.

"Momma seep?"

"Momma sleep." Elliot repeats. Carefully, he crosses the room and comes to a halt at the foot of the hospital bed. He sits down, his eyes catching the oversized stuffed mouse in overalls with the book attached to its paw he'd bought late last night.

"Hey, I have something for you. Do you like books?"

Her frizzy dark brown, almost black locks bounce as she bobs her head up and down. Elliot has to stop himself from wiping away a stray tear that slips down her cheeks because he doesn't want to scare her; he's still a stranger.

A strange bout of adrenaline courses through Elliot's veins as he leans over, his fingers closing around the stuffed mouse. Nervous energy threatens to swallow him whole. All he's doing is giving his daughter a stuffed toy; he should not be this nervous.

But what if she doesn't like it? What if mice scare her? What if she hates it?

What if she hates him? Well, he's about to find out.

"I got you this." Nervously, he holds out the mouse for her to take.

He watches with baited breath as Ella eyes the mouse, her blue eyes scrutinizing, appraising. Tentatively, one of her tiny hands reaches out and pokes at the mouse's stomach.

"Mouse?"

"Mouse." Elliot confirms with a nod. "Take it, he's yours."

The little girl sniffles once more, yawning and rubbing her nose before she reaches out and grabs the mouse. She folds it into her hold and immediately sticks a thumb into her mouth.

Elliot breathes a sigh of relief, a smile crossing his face. "You like the mouse?"

She nods and then pulls her thumb from her mouth. She reaches out to grab the book stuck to the stuffed animal's paw and then holds it out to him.

"Read?"

 _Read._ He's never heard a sweeter word.

"Sure baby, sure." He agrees, taking the book from her tiny hands. His heart flutters in his chest and he's afraid he won't be able to remember how to read; his tongue will have suddenly forgotten how to form words. Ella makes him nervous. No other girl's ever been able to make him _this_ nervous before aside from her mother. But thankfully she doesn't catch on to how insecure she makes him; nope, she just cuddles against the pillows used to prop her up with the mouse that's almost her size gripped tightly against her chest.

He starts to read, his voice wavering just a little. "If you give a mouse a cookie, he'll ask for a glass of milk. When you give him the milk, he'll probably ask for a straw." He pauses to show her the pictures that accompany his words, and then pushes on. "When he's finished, he'll ask for a napkin. Then he'll want to look in a mirror to make…"

"Piture!" Ella yells. "Piture!"

Confused, Elliot's eyebrows knit together in the middle of his forehead and he holds the book up. Ella gives him a quintessential Olivia look of frustration and before he knows it, she's crawling out from underneath her blankets. Apparently he isn't lingering on the pictures long enough for her liking because before he knows it, Ella is crawling underneath his arm and into his lap. Her tiny feet dig into his thighs and she comes dangerously close to kicking him in his groin. Nonetheless, she manages to settle against him, her head tucked underneath his chin, her back against his chest. She smells like lilac and lavender; her hair tickles his chin and his eyes fall on the IV sticking out of her arm. He's thankful she's not paying attention to the tube that drags along the pillow. She grabs the book and looks up at him; those ice blue eyes that match his, smile brightly back up at him.

"Mouse?" She asks, pointing to the book and then her mouse as she restarts the book from the beginning. He notices for the first time that her nails are a bright purplish pink color. He smiles; imaging how long it must've taken Olivia to get her to sit still to paint each nail. Probably as long as it took to do her toes, he notes as he glances down at her small feet as they knock against his knees.

"Uh huh, and if we give him a," he points to the giant chocolate chip cookie in the illustration.

"Tookie!" Ella declares triumphantly soliciting a laugh from Elliot at her flub of tookie for cookie.

"He'll ask for a glass of…"

"Milk!"

Her voice is like his favorite melody, music to his ears. He's so in love with her already. She's everything he never knew he needed. His heart beats wildly as she mumbles unintelligibly and looks up at him, smiling. He fights the urge to hug her tightly and tell her how much he loves her. How much he's always loved her.

The pages of the book turn as he continues to read. Ella's hands brush against his as he turns the page and she giggles when the mouse's demands become more outrageous.

He becomes so engrossed in the book and his daughter that he doesn't realize Olivia's awake until he hears the cot creak. She sits up, her expression mimicking that of their daughter's only moments prior. Ella's eyes light up when she sees her mother and she shouts, "momma!"

"Hi baby." Olivia smiles, rubbing at her eyes. Her tone is lighter, easier; seeing their daughter awake and breathing on her own has definitely helped improve her spirit.

"I read! The mouse he have the tookie and then he wants milk and a mirror for a piture and and and…"

"Woah, woah, woah, slow down there, Care Bear." Olivia coos softly, shuffling to her feet. She stretches and then yawns. Her once freshly pressed work uniform is disheveled and rumbled; pieces of lint cover her black shirt, and her hair is frizzy.

Ella shifts in Elliot's lap, her mother now the focus of her attention. "Mama, Ewiot read; see!" The little girl whacks at the book in Elliot's hand and points to the images on the paper. "Mouse mama, mouse!"

"I see baby, I see…" Olivia assures her daughter, crossing the room. Her brown eyes meet Elliot's and she smiles a smile that stretches from cheek to cheek. "You two look comfortable…"

"Should've seen her about thirty minutes ago; she wanted you. I thought she was gonna wail the whole hospital awake."

"Somehow, I think you two would've managed," she tells him, dropping a kiss against her daughter's slumber mussed hair.

Suddenly a warmth blossoms in Elliot's chest at the sight. The genuineness of the moment and the uninhibited joy that blooms across Olivia's face as she fingers her daughter's dark strands causes something to crack inside of him. He's overwhelmed, taken beneath a current of a love so profound, he feels intrusive watching the scene unfold before him. There's no doubt in him that, even knowing Olivia once left their daughter ages ago, that she couldn't be more in love with the tiny being prattling along in his lap. He's so in love with them both. So overcome by the ardent need to love and protect them at all costs.

And then he remembers. Yesterday, before all hell had broken loose, the question he'd wanted to ask Olivia; the question he felt that he needed to ask her. The question that had led him to waking his mother at the crack of dawn to ask her for his grandmother's wedding ring.

Inside his pocket, the vintage ring box digs into his thigh as Ella re-situates herself. He stares up at Olivia and she looks back at him.

"You okay?" she asks as, continuing to comb through their daughter's hair with her fingers.

His mouth is dry and his palms are sweaty. He chastises himself silently. _Just ask her dumbass. You didn't wake your mother up at six in the morning to find your grandmother's ring just to stare at Olivia like a gaping fish._

"Elliot?"

 _Ask._

"El?"

 _Now!_

Gracelessly, the words tumble from his lips. "Marry me, Olivia?"

"What?"

He isn't allotted the opportunity to respond to her question. Dr. Prasad enters the room, his clear spectacle perched perfectly on his nose, and flanked by a nurse pushing a cart.

"Good morning you three!"


	12. We'll Be Running Again

A/N: I know it has been a while. So sorry. Please forgive me. I've been having a really hard time writing these two lately. I blame my strong dislike of the shows current direction and the fact that I just suck in general. Sorry.

Anyways, y'all have Stabson to thank for this. She encouraged me to keep going. Also, a happy belated birthday to her and to HaileyStabler aka Jackie (congrats on graduating again, m'love).

Hope you enjoy. This chapter kicked my ass, but I somehow tried to write through it.

-M

* * *

Will you marry me?" he repeats, nervously, swallowing hard.

In Elliot's lap, Ella prattles along, completely oblivious to what's just happened. The sound of pages turning and paper rubbing against paper are the only sounds in the room. Elliot feels his chest tighten as he waits for her to respond.

She doesn't answer him. Instead, she looks like a deer caught in the headlights. Her brown eyes wide and her mouth hanging open ever so slightly as if she were in shock.

Shit. This is not the reaction he'd wished for. But really, what had he expected? For her to fall into his arm and for them to ride off into a happily ever after? That isn't, and has never been, Olivia. She doesn't believe in fairy tales and happy endings; she never has, and he can't fault her either.

Elliot fixes his lips to respond to her silence, but the next thing he knows, Dr. Prasad shuffles in, a nurse pushing a cart behind him. He holds Olivia's gaze a few moments more and finds a mixture of uncertainty and fear swirling beneath her chocolate irises.

"Hi, Ella, I'm Dr. P. Are we having a good morning?" Dr. Prasad asks, and both Olivia and Elliot break their gaze. Suddenly aware of the room's new occupants, Ella's fingers still against the pages of the book and Elliot feels her little body go rigid against his chest. She leans against him and turns her head into his chest.

"No doctor. Wanna go home." Ella mutters into Elliot's shirt.

Elliot looks up at Olivia, who groans. She brushes a hand through her tousled locks and shuffles on her toes. "Ella, baby…the doctor isn't going to hurt you." She reaches out for Ella, but Ella isn't having it.

The little girl shakes her head defiantly, a hard no sounding from her lips. Her chin digs into Elliot's chest and she balls his t-shirt in her tiny fists. The book that had been resting in her lap sails to the floor. "No doctors, mama. No. I no want no doctors!"

"Oh, boy." Olivia sighs, arms retracting. They fall to her side and she looks at Elliot.

Elliot just glances down at his daughter, uncertain of what to do. He fights the urge to wrap his arms around her in an act of reassurance. She seems so helpless and tiny, fists clenched, face hidden. He just wants to protect her from everything.

"I knew she'd do this, she doesn't like doctors too much. I'm sorry…"

Dr. Prasad just smiles and chuckles. "I see someone's feeling just fine. She's got her color back, and clearly her spirit."

"You haven't seen anything yet. Ella, come on baby…" Olivia attempts to coax her daughter out of the cocoon she's seemingly wrapped herself in, in her father's arms. Ella refuses.

"No. Go 'way!" The conviction in her tone alone causes a sense of pride to bloom in Elliot's chest. His eyes glance downward and his heart melts at the sight of his daughter's tiny body molded into his in hopes of a reprieve from the big bad doctor. Only a couple of days and he's already wrapped around her little finger.

"It's more than okay, Mrs. Benson. She's not the first child to ever bristle in my presence." Dr. Prasad informs them.

"Miss Benson, and usually she's not this vocal with her hate..."

"Well, then Miss Benson, I'll let Alyssa here take over; she's our pediatrics nurse." Dr. Prasad motions to the woman behind him pushing the cart. She's a petite woman with soft brown eyes and skin the color of caramel.

"She's really good with children. She's just going to take little Ella's vitals and draw some blood from her IV. If everything's good, you all can go home immediately after. The allergy results will be in, in a few days and someone from the hospital will contact you. Until then, I'll give you a list of possible allergens she should avoid until we know for sure. Sound good?"

Olivia nods.

"Sound good, Dad?"

Dad? Elliot's head whips around at the mention of the word and he smiles lightly. He glances down at the little girl buried in his chest and then back up at the doctor. "Yeah."

With that, Dr. Prasad turns on his heels, his oxfords squeaking against the floor as he disappears.

Elliot and Olivia both turn their attention to Alyssa, who is shuffling towards the bed with two vials in hand. "Hi, Ella, I'm Alyssa!"

"Go 'way!" Ella growls. "No doctor."

"Ella, baby; come on. Let go of Elliot and let Alyssa help you. You want to go home, don't you? Poppa and Gigi miss you. You want to see Poppa and Gigi, right?"

"No Poppa. No Gigi. No doctor!"

"Ella…"

"'S gonna hurt!" Ella insists.

Elliot watches the exchange, unable to do much of anything else, though he wants to laugh. He's fighting the urge to burst into a bout of chuckles as Ella kicks him in his thigh with her tiny toes. Her bottom lip juts out, and her brows furrow together. Like mother, like daughter. Whether or not she knows it, Olivia's own expression mimics that of her daughter's. Olivia's bottom lip juts out; her arms are folded across her chest, seemingly in her own act of defiance. They're - Ella and Olivia - are facing off, and from what Elliot can see, this isn't their first head to hear, nor will it be their last.

Alyssa steps up to the plate next; her black eyes soft and wide as she casts Olivia an understanding smile. "Ella, I'm not a doctor, honey. I promise I won't hurt you…"

Once again, Ella responds with a defiant no.

Olivia's patience is wearing thin; Elliot can tell by the redness that creeps up her neck and the force with which she folds her arms. Briefly he wonders just how many times Ella's been to the doctors and what's been done to her in those visits that warrants this reaction from the three year old.

Whatever the case is, he knows he needs to do something for the situation implodes. His knowledge of children is limited and Ella doesn't know him well, yet for some reason, he finds a glimmer of confidence in his chest. She's holding onto him for dear life, sandwiched in his arms as if he'll protect her. That has to count for something, right? "Let me try, Liv."

Clearly flustered, Olivia shrugs her shoulders. "By all means, go for it. D-a-d-d-y."

Five letters cause his nerves to spiral out and suddenly he isn't too certain of himself anymore. Daddy…. What if he screws this up? What if Ella suddenly hates him? What if…

What if he takes a deep breath and helps his daughter be brave.

"Hey, Ella…" he whispers against the top of Ella's head so only she can hear. "I don't like the doctors either. Their hands are always cold and they always give you yucky medicine…" he pulls a face, sticking his tongue out. "Plus, between you and me, they're stinky."

Against his chest he can feel Ella nod, a few muffled giggles hit his ears.

"But...they make us feel better. And last night you weren't feeling good, were you?"

She shakes her head no.

"So how about I hold your hand, and you hold Mouse," Elliot reaches behind him, fumbling around until he gets a hand on the stuffed mouse and holds it out for her, "and Alyssa makes sure you're okay?"

Slowly but surely, Ella reaches for Mouse. Her nimble fingers grip the plush toy and she cradles it against her small body. "'Old my hand?"

"I'll always hold your hand." All you have to do is ask.

/

Once Alyssa returns with Ella's discharge papers, they're free to go home. This thought alone should bring Elliot relief, yet he still finds a pressure building in his chest. His life, this life, has only just begun. He's got a family to take care of now – a daughter and maybe a wife.

A wife. They haven't talked about his impromptu proposal. He doesn't even know how to bring it back up. He doesn't even know if he should; Olivia seems content to let it be. She hasn't said anything to him and she doesn't seem as if she's going to, either.

Ella is her first priority.

Ella. His daughter who currently sits, band-aid on her arm, sucker dangling from her lips, stuffed mouse in her lap, in between her mother's legs. There's a half smile on her face as she glances up at him with those bright blue eyes.

Above her, Olivia fiddles with her hair, slowly combing through the night's tangles with a thick plastic comb.

He could get used to seeing this sight every day; it'd give his life meaning. He's been lost for too long.

Clearing his throat, Elliot catches Olivia's attention. Her dark eyes meet his and he figures it's now or never. They've got to sort this out. For Ella.

"Liv, about earlier –"

But that's as far as he gets. At that moment, Don and Marge walk through the door. Don carries a bouquet of balloons and Marge holds out a stuffed pink bear – a Care Bear.

As soon as Ella seems them, she bolts from Olivia's arms and off the bed. Mouse falls to the floor forgotten along with the sucker that hangs from her lips; she almost knocks Don over as she jumps into his outstretched arms, but he catches her just in time.

"POPPA! GIGI! BALLOONS!" Ella cheers happily.

A pang of jealousy arises in the pit of Elliot's stomach. Dejectedly, he picks up Mouse, brushing the stuffed animal off and setting it down on the bed.

"It's okay, daddy…even I can't compete with Poppa and Gigi…" Olivia's voice comes from over his shoulder. He turns to find her smiling at him. She reaches out a hand and squeezes his shoulder. "She already loves you."

He looks up to see Ella, wildly explaining something to Don and Marge and smiles. "You think?"

"I know."

"How?" he asks, softly, eyes cast sideways to the scene of his daughter in the arms of her pseudo grandparents.

"She wouldn't have crawled into your arms earlier if she didn't. She's like you; if she didn't like you, you'd know."

Warmth rises within him as he thinks of the way she hid in his chest earlier. A half smile tugs at his lips. She's like him, his daughter. He turns back towards Olivia, ripe with curiosity. Are there other ways in which Olivia thinks Ella mimics him?

His question remains just a thought, however, as Marge shuffles over to them.

"Elliot, Olivia, you two look rough,"

Elliot chortles and Olivia shakes her head. Just at that moment, a loud rumble sounds from Elliot's stomach.

"And you sound rough, too." Marge laughs. "Hey, how about you two go grab some food – yeah?"

"You know what, that's a perfect idea, come on, El." Olivia's hand lands on Elliot's lower back, and she pushes him towards the door.

/

The walk to the cafeteria is quiet. Elliot's hands dangle idly at his side. He chances sideways glances at Olivia every now and then, but finds her face blank - expressionless; he can't read her. Is she contemplating his proposal? Is she worried about their daughter? He doesn't know and the tight-lipped smile stretched across her mouth offers no insight.

Flip. Flop. Her flats slide along the linoleum and they press on. The usual hustle and bustle of hospital life is, oddly enough, at a slow lull. A few straggling nurses rush down the wide, bright corridors. A couple of orderlies push carts or beds. The silence is infuriating to Elliot. It's mocking him, reminding him that Olivia's yet to even glance in his direction; reminding him that the more he thinks he's got this new life sorted through, the less he does. Unable to take the silence any longer, Elliot opens his mouth to speak, but is cut off by the sound of Olivia's voice.

They've reached the cafeteria and instead of heading for the food displays, she wraps her thin fingers around his right wrist and yanks him towards a booth tucked into a corner. Elliot bounces along the cushion as she all but pushes him into the seat.

"We need to talk." Her voice is flat and to the point.

He nods in agreement, working an oversized palm across his face and yawning. There's bits of stubble that itch his palm and he silently wonders what it'd take for the Cragens to let him shower at their place. Sighing, he speaks, "I -"

That's as far as he gets. Olivia cuts him off with a raised hand. She, like him, is worse for wear; her clothes are rumpled, her eyes bloodshot. Her hair is frizzy. "No, just...I need to talk. You need to listen. Just, just for a second, okay?"

"Okay…" he swallows hard; his heart beats fast in his chest, sweat builds on his brows and his palms grow clammy. Is she going to answer his impulsive proposal? More importantly, will it be the answer he wants?

"Look, you've had a lot thrown at you the last couple of weeks. Your dad just died, you just found out that you have a daughter…" she trails off, ducking her head. Her long locks fall across her face, acting as a curtain between them. "We had to rush her to the hospital. Then me in general. You're stressed out and not thinking clearly."

Elliot visibly bristles, his blue eyes narrowing. If she tried, she could not be more wrong. On the contrary, he feels as if he's thinking clearly for the first time in a long time. He's thinking about his daughter, her mother, and their future. He's thinking about family dinners and walks to the park. He's thinking about ABCs and 123s. He's thinking about date nights, and kisses; sweet-nothings and cuddling. For the first time in four years, he's thinking about something more than just going through the motions.

"Olivia, if this is about me asking you to marry me, I know it was impulsive and left field, but I am thinking clearly."

It's Olivia's turn to bristle; she recoils, shaking her head. She pushes back the errant strands of her that obfuscate her view. "No, you're feeling guilty about what happened to Ella, about what I told you. But you don't have to, El. You don't. It's okay. I didn't come back to force you into some non-existent fairy tale ending with a white dress and wedding cake. We had sex once, four years ago and -"

Four years in between their last meeting, and she's still as infuriating as ever. "I got you pregnant!" He snaps, louder than intended. An older woman passing by turns to stare; her gaze disapproving as she scrutinizes the pair before going on with her day.

Olivia rolls her dark eyes, heat creeping into her cheeks. "Don't you think I know that? I've spent the last four years with people giving me the same look that that woman just gave me. Rushing into marriage won't turn back the hands of time or do whatever you're hoping it'll do. We've never even been on a date!"

A long, exasperated sigh falls from Elliot's lips, and he fights the urge to slam his head down on the seafoam green tabletop. Twelve years of friendship, of knowing each other from kindergarten and onward, and she's worried about a first date.

"Olivia -"

"I'm not your responsibility, Elliot. I never was. You don't have to feel guilty for the way things happened or try to fix them with a marriage proposal. This -"

Frustration builds and Elliot sighs, clenching and un-clenching his fists beneath the table to hopefully abate the tension streaming throughout his body. "I don't feel guilty-" he stops, the lie bitter on his tongue.

Guilt.

Could it be guilt propelling his marriage proposal and not the clear thinking he'd originally thought? The fight in his deflates. His voice is soft and low as he chooses his next words carefully. "I want to take care of you two and I'm just trying to figure out how."

Olivia's eyes soften; a small smile stretches across her lips. "I know you do, but rushing us into a marriage before we've even spent more than ten minutes together again isn't the answer. Ella's a lot of work, Elliot. She's a living, breathing human being who throws temper tantrums and doesn't like to be told what to do -"

Elliot grins. That sounds awful familiar. "So she acts like you?"

"No, she acts like you," a half smile tugs at the corners of Olivia's lips, "But let's figure out where we're going with her and we can figure out where we stand later."

"I know where I stand, Liv. I love you, always have…"

"I know. We should get something to eat and get back to Ella."

/

Somehow, on the walk back to Ella's room, they end up holding hands. Olivia's thin fingers fit loosely between Elliot's and he wonders what she's thinking. Her expression is neutral, though there's more of a gait to her stroll, a bounce in her step. She just seems lighter, more comfortable now that his poorly planned marriage proposal is off the table. Admittedly, he is too. She's right, there's no use in rushing things now when he doesn't know his daughter and, as much as it pains him to say, he no longer knows Olivia, either. They have time.

They're almost to their destination, their clasped hands swinging between them, when…

"Liv, I have to tell my mom about Ella."

"I know…" she nods slowly. "I don't want you to hide her."

"And I think we should probably tell your mom, too…"

Olivia bristles, her eyes widening. The tension that seemed to seep from her body only moments prior fills her body. The hand she has loosely trapped in his goes rigid.

A pang of guilt slices across Elliot's gut. Etched in her irises, he can see the ghosts of her childhood. He thinks of all the times she'd shown up on his doorstep with a bruised arm, or in dirty clothes. He thinks of the last night he'd saw her before she disappeared for four years. He thinks of everything she didn't tell him about her mother – about ever hit and every insult and he knows where her apprehension comes from regarding her mother. But he also knows what Olivia doesn't, that Serena has changed; her drinking has stopped completely and she truly misses her daughter.

"El…"

"She thinks you're dead…"

Olivia inhales a deep breath. Elliot watches as her chest rises and falls, her breath steep. She's scared. He can tell by the way her bottom lip quivers ever so slightly, her grip on his hand tightening just a tad. "How about we tell our daughter that you're her father first before we start making any more plans?"

Elliot nods, unable and unwilling to push the topic of Serena any further at the moment.

/

When they reach Ella's room, they find Alyssa waiting, a stack of papers in her hand. Ella sits in Don's lap, her eyes glued to the balloons floating from strings wrapped tightly in her small palm.

"Alright, little miss here is all set to go. We set her up a follow-up appointment with her pediatrician for tomorrow morning. Here's a list of foods and other possible allergens for her to avoid while we await lab results," Alyssa holds out the stack of papers for Olivia to take. "And there's a prescription in there for Benadryl just in case she manages to get her hands on one."

Olivia takes the paperwork and mumbles a soft thank you; Elliot does the same, and Alyssa retreats, bidding her farewells.

A collective sigh of relief sounds from the four adults in the room, and Elliot turns his attention towards his daughter. He watches her, just as fascinated by her as she seems to be by the balloons she stares at.

"Marge, Don…" comes Olivia's voice, interrupting the silence that seemed to fall across the room. "Would you mind taking Ella's stuff to the car for me? El and I need to talk to Ella for a minute."

Elliot's attention to turns towards Olivia at the sound of his name. El & I? Huh?

"No problem, Liv. Come on, Marge." Don nods, lifting Ella from his lap. He sets her down on the bed and kisses her forehead. "Care Bear, Poppa's gonna take the balloons to the car along with Love Bear and here. Okay?"

"But Poppa, I go too?" Ella's little voice questions.

"Course baby, momma and Elliot are gonna bring you to the car. Me and Gigi will be waiting for you."

With that, Don and Marge bid a brief goodbye to Ella, grabbing the papers from Olivia along with the stuffed animals, book, and any miscellaneous leftover items.

Awkwardly, Elliot finds himself on the edge of the bed again, watching as Olivia heads to the corner of the room where her purse sits, tucked into a drawer, and then makes her way back over to the bed.

Unzipping her bag, she gives Elliot a soft smile, which he immediately returns, following her lead. He watches, head tilted slightly, as Olivia pulls a crinkled piece of paper, folded in half, from her purse.

Next to him, Ella immediately becomes giddy at the sight, clapping her hands together as Olivia begins to unfold it. Elliot watches, curious.

"Remember this baby?" Olivia asks softly. Ella nods, her stubby fingers reaching outwards in glee.

Elliot stretches his neck, anxious to see what Olivia's mystery paper holds when he realizes it's not just any piece of paper, but a photograph. A photograph he doesn't remember taking.

He smiles as he glimpses it, sandwiched between Olivia's fingers as she holds it up to their daughter. His sixteen year old self smiles at the camera, laughing at something in the distance. What catches his eyes, however, isn't his own smile, or bad fashion sense, but sixteen year old Olivia. She's tucked underneath his left shoulder, curled into his side and instead of looking at the camera, she looks at him. She's smiling, her dark eyes sparkling. He can almost hear the laugh falling from her lips.

He can't believe he's never seen this before.

Ella's giggles draw his attention back to the here and now and looks at Olivia. Her cheeks are tinted pink and her she glances up at him through her eyelashes.

"Remember who this is?" Olivia continues.

Ella nods again, a large grin spreading across her face. "Momma and daddy!"

Elliot's ears perk up, he cranes his neck and watches as Ella's tiny fingers grasp the photograph and she grins. Like her mother, she's a sight for sore eyes. He almost can't believe that she's half of him.

"Momma and daddy!" Ella cheers again, pointing at the photo and then up at Olivia. "Momma!" She points at Olivia in the picture, and then the Olivia in front of her.

"That's right," Olivia encourages. "And this is daddy…" she mimics Ella's movements and points at the photograph, and then over at Elliot.

Time slows and his heart stops. He watches Ella's eyes, the one's that match his mother's, dim with confusion at first. Her tiny eyebrows furrow together and hesitantly she drags her eyes over to him. Ella stares at him, her bottom lip jutted out in a semi pout. Slowly but surely recognition dawns behind her baby blues. A grin spreads across her chubby cheeks and she snatches the photo from Olivia.

"Daddy!" Ella cheers, tapping on the photo. "Daddy!" She cries again and then points at Elliot. "It's daddy!"

Before he knows it, Ella's launched into his arms. She steps on his thighs and pulls at his shirt, and then wraps her arms around his neck. She squeezes him as tight as her little arms will allow. Tears build behind Elliot's eyes, brimming his eyelids. Slowly, for fear of this moment being all just a dream, he mimics Ella's movements. He wraps a large arm around her tiny waist and holds her close.

This is real. He tells himself, over and over again, breathing his daughter in. She's magic in his arms; he can feel her heart flutter against his chest, or maybe that's his own. Either way, she's heaven.

And then she's gone. She's taken a step back and each of her tiny hands rests on each of his shoulders. Big, bright blue eyes stare back at him, her chunky cheeks swelling with a smile; Olivia's twin.

"Hi." Ella smiles, her cheeks turning a crimson color. "You stay with me and momma stays and I read the book and we have tookies and Poppa and Gigi make the yummies and we watch Care Bears. What Cares bears do you like? I like sing bear and, and, and…"

Just as easily as she'd climbed into his lap, she disappears. Olivia hoists their daughter into her arms, bouncing the little girl on her hip. She brushes back Ella's wavy strands and a couple of stray tears slip down her cheeks, "Ella, baby, you gotta let daddy breathe. Okay? He's just as happy as you are, but you can't climb all over him."

"'S okay, Liv. She's fine." Elliot whispers, a lump rising in his throat. His eyes meet Olivia's and the tears he's tried to swallow slip down his cheeks. Olivia smiles back at him and four years of hurt, of anger, and of pain all disappear.


End file.
